Stupid Christmas
by Amadea
Summary: Draco Malfoy finds himself a little infatuated with a certain black haired boy. On the other hand there's a boy with grey eyes, too. With a revolution coming, as well as the Dark Lord, will Draco find a way to meet a special someone beneath the mistletoe?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Of course it's not mine. I know you know it's not mine. Just so you know.

**Author's Note: **Well, here's something random that came from my brain to be shuttled out into the ethers of the internet. Review, please. If it's not enough motivation to review because it makes _me_ happy, review because it makes _you_ happy. You know it does.

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**Chapter One: In Which Mr. Malfoy is Made a Fool**

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It was the way his hair stood up in the back, Draco thought, which _really_ got him; the coarse, spiky black tufts, entirely and completely untamable, regardless of earnest attempts to quell it. Even when that ridiculous boy spit in his hand and smoothed it over his hair, it went unchanged. Draco pulled his sleeve over his hand and dragged it morosely beneath his nose, sniffling as he did so.

"Bloody colds, keeping me in bed all day with nothing to do," he muttered and yanked his thick blanket closer to his chin. He closed his eyes and was almost to the lovely point of sleeping, in which he wouldn't have to worry about what he thought—blame it on a bloody dream.

"Oy, Malfoy!"

Draco was startled by the shout, thrashing for a moment in panic and then lying still, waiting for his heart to return to its proper place. Let them think he didn't hear.

"_Malfoy!" _the person bellowed again. Probably that berk Crabbe.

"_What?"_ Draco bellowed back, a cough interrupting him at the end. Stupid holidays. Stupid Christmas.

"_Supper!"_

Draco hauled himself from his bed and shuffled into his slippers. Let him be expelled. Lord knows he couldn't stand the place anyway. He yanked his robe shut over his pyjamas and worked his way blearily to the great hall. _The food better be damn good for all this putting out I'm doing,_ he thought.

He sat heavily in his chair at the Slytherin table, scanning the empty gold plates set neatly in front of them all. "I thought supper was _here_," he muttered and wiped his sleeve beneath his nose once more.

"Draco, good Lord, didn't your mother teach you better?" Pansy Parkinson asked from across the table. "And what are you _wearing?_ You'll never come to supper looking like that when we're _married,_ do you understand?" She lowered her voice to a hiss. "_Never."_

"Or how's about this?" Draco hissed right back. "How's about I don't marry you and that way, you'll never have to see me at supper at _all? _Sounds like a damn fine plan to me. I'll tell my mother, you tell yours."

Pansy sputtered a moment before saying, "You don't mean that." She sneered and laughed derisively. "Your brains have just been addled by all the snot from your cold."

"I don't _have _a cold," Draco said and promptly sneezed onto his plate. She laughed again and he said, "It would be a bad marriage anyway. One of us would end up dead. Probably me, because you're less honest. Probably use poison or stab me in the middle of a good romp between the sheets. Not that there'd _be_ many of those."

"Not if you keep _this_ up, there won't be," Pansy snapped.

There was a loud burst of laughter at the Gryffindor table and Draco saw Potter, surrounded by the hedge Granger's hair created and his gangly sidekick Weasley, all of them laughing heartily, going red in the face. Granger's teeth jutted out as she hee-hawed and he had one rosy picture of her and Ron together with their rather ugly children and living in a boot. Now, Potter was a different story. Skinny, yes. Pale, yes. A little on the short side, yes. But God, he was beautiful. If someone wanted to see an _attractive_ couple, Drace felt that he and Potter would…

Draco slapped his hand to his forehead. Definitely _not_ be that couple.

Pansy followed Draco's eyes to the trio. "Can't someone get that boy _out_ of here?"

"Well, the Dark Lord's been _trying, _see," Draco said condescendingly and Pansy shot him a fiery look, one that should have made her look sexy and should have made Draco burn with lust, but really only made him picture how nice Harry looked when he was angry. Draco's eyes went back to Potter. "But it appears he's just a little too badass to be done away with by the Dark Lord. The little roach."

"Oh, please," Theodore Nott said, liquidly entering the conversation from his spot three seats down. Draco looked startled and Pansy looked flattered, mostly because Theodore rarely talked, so having his attention was something akin to special. "You don't think he's a roach."

"Oh?" Draco said, but couldn't think of what else to add and left it at that, hoping it sounded superior.

Theodore smirked. "No. You don't." His eyes slid to Pansy and he opened his mouth, as if preparing to say something. He paused, his eyes flickering back to Draco and he shut his mouth, something that looked like another smirk pulling at the corner of his lips in the tiniest way. He turned back to his plate, his eyes lowered, and Draco felt certain he had been made a fool, but uncertain as to how.

After a few moments of an awkward and dreadful silence around Draco, Theodore stood up and bellowed, "_POTTER"_ before resuming his seat and casting his eyes down once more, calmly placing a forkful of potatoes in his mouth. Harry looked up curiously from his table and saw Hermione pointing toward Theodore and then Harry ignored where she was pointing and looked directly at Draco, who flushed a brilliant red and looked away immediately.

"Something wrong, Malfoy?" Theodore asked, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. Draco suspected it was actually to hide another smirk.

"No," Draco snapped and kept his eyes trained unwaveringly on his plate of food.

"Malfoy."

Draco clenched his jaw and looked up slowly into the face of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Could. The Boy Who Did. The Boy Who Lived. "_Yes,_ four-eyes?" Draco glared.

"I hear tell Theodore says you want me. Is it true?"

A cough overwhelmed Draco, strangling him at the back of this throat in his surprise. Pansy looked as though she had just swallowed a lemon whole and Theodore looked mildly smug, chewing on a Brussels sprout.

"You little roach," Draco sputtered, glaring some more at Potter, who looked completely calm.

Theodore's head jerked up and he narrowed his eyes at Draco. "Liar. You don't think he's a roach, you think he's a _god._ There's a reason you've never been fond of Pansy, and it's not because she's piss and vinegar."

Harry cocked his head, looking slightly confused, and Draco turned his head, eyeing him. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Nope, definitely not a god." _An uber-god, _he added silently. "Sorry, Potter. I know you're disappointed."

"Do you want me?" he repeated, quietly this time.

Draco took a deep breath and then said, letting it out in a rush, "In the worst way."

Harry looked a little taken aback. "I mean—it'd just be for the day… nothing permanent… or anything…" he was looking fully disconcerted now, actually, Draco noticed.

"Not a man of commitment, then, are you?" Draco asked, jutting his chin out.

"Well, I mean… Flint will probably be back pretty soon… and I'm not really…" Harry trailed off. "Just what are you talking about, Malfoy?"

"I'm talking about what you're talking about," Draco said hurriedly. "I think," he added after a moment. "What are you talking about?"

"Filling in for Slytherin quidditch practise. I thought it was time we got over our hateful boundaries and became—well, not friends, that's asking too much—but acquaintances. So I thought I'd help… are you okay?"

Sometime in the middle of Harry's little speech Draco had let his head fall with a thunk on to the table, ripe with embarrassment and humiliation.

"Yeah, Malfoy, what were _you_ thinking?" Theodore called from his spot down the table.

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**Author's Note: **Thanks for reading. Hopefully an update will be out soon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **J.K. Rowling would be the one who invented the Harry Potter universe, not me.

**Author's Note: **C'est moi! I am back—this chapter is long overdue—anyone who was actually waiting for an update has my deepest apologies. It's not as funny as the first chapter in my opinion, but I, for one, cannot force funniness as it often just comes across as crappiness. Drop me a review; I'd love to hear what you have to say. Thanks.

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**Chapter Two: In Which Pansy Catches On**

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Draco felt certain that if there were a circus for idiots, he should be in it. He didn't care much for that, and he didn't care much for admitting that. Of course he should have realized that Harry didn't swing that way. His way. Whatever. Of course he should have known the only things Harry thought about were overcoming Voldemort and saving the world, hanging out with Hermione and Ron (currently dubbed Hedge and Weasel), and playing Quidditch.

Draco had to admit he could see how Nott had misunderstood his comments—said in a rare fit of candidness on a late night—that he wished Potter would "play for his team," to quote the exact wording from that night. He hadn't, of course, meant his _Quidditch_ team, but nonetheless, Flint _was_ gone and so practice wasn't really an option because the Slytherins hadn't planned ahead and assigned backups. The only real option left for Nott was to think Draco was talking about Quidditch, because no one assumed he was… you know. Even _he _didn't think he was… you know. Except lately. When he was disinterested in Pansy, nervous around boys, and constantly had Potter on the mind. Someone must have drugged him, he reasoned. Theodore Nott made him nervous, too. Mostly because he seemed so _certain_ of what he was talking about. And Draco had to admit—no matter how he wished it weren't true—it wasn't Quidditch. Theodore Nott knew something and Draco thought—Draco thought he might just be right.

Pansy had a tendency. She had a tendency to do everything loudly. She boasted loudly; she laughed loudly; she shrieked loudly…she even walked loudly. Especially now that she had entered her sixth year, her mother had given her permission to wear high heels (dubbed The Shoes) for everyday, as opposed to Special Occasions Only. Draco felt that while he _did_ enjoy a certain security in his relationship with Pansy, he did _not_ enjoy the majority of their conversations. In fact, the very conversation about her shoes and Special Occasions Only and responsibility that came with wearing The Shoes was a conversation she had subjected him to on the train ride at the start of the school year. The compartments on that train had never felt so small before.

As of present, Pansy was attempting to stride across the Slytherin common room toward Draco; however, she was wearing The Shoes and they have a tendency of their own to make _everything_ harder. Pansy's ankles were wobbling as she trip-tropped along in the high, narrow heels.

"Draaaaco," she said loudly and flung herself beside him on the sofa.

"Pansy," he said, in what he was pleased to note, were much more neutral tones than her piercing, sing-songy soprano. She immediately took up petting his arm and suddenly, violently, she was the epitome of everything Draco had ever disliked about girls. Their high, plastic voices, makeup caked along their faces, never acting like _themselves_ around the blokes… "Stop that," he said, batting away her hand. "Don't touch me."

She pouted her lips. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

"We were fighting this morning!" Draco exclaimed, jumping to his feet to pace. "I don't understand! We're supposed to be mad at one another—and I _am _mad!"

Pansy got indignantly to her feet. She looked at him skeptically. "Are you one of those boys who stay mad just to stay mad?" She pressed her fists into her hips.

"That _doesn't even make sense_. Of course not!" He coughed into the cuff of his sleeve. That may have actually been one of the more intelligent things he'd ever heard her say.

"What _is_ this whole thing about Harry Potter and what Theodore was saying, anyway? Is there something _going on?_" She bugged her eyes out in what Draco figured was a similar fashion to when a praying mantis was being squashed.

"When you say 'going on,' you mean…?"

Pansy folded her arms over her chest, lips pursed; she looked away for a moment and then back. "Well, you know… going on!"

"Parkinson, you are one unique creature. I have no idea what you're implying."

"You. Harry. Broom closet. _Snogging._ Draco, I'm your _girlfriend._ You should _tell_ me if there's something _going on._" She arched a finely-plucked brow and jutted her jaw out.

"Of course there's nothing like that going on," Draco said indignantly, secretly wondering what it would be like to be shoved into a small space with Harry. They'd probably end up brushing up against one another quite a lot. A small shiver traveled down his spine.

"_Draco!_" Pansy shrieked loudly and Draco jerked, his eyes snapping to her face, the small, stupid smile sliding from his own. "I saw that look! Don't think I haven't _caught on_, Malfoy! Your _mother_ will be hearing about this!" She twirled, turned her ankle because of The Shoes, caught herself, pulled the shoes viciously from her feet, and stormed up the stairs to the girls' dorm.

Draco folded himself into a chair beside the grey ashes of the fireplace. What a ridiculous spot to store students—under the lake. It must have been a real nutter who designed the castle and delegated sleeping quarters. Water dripped from the ceiling and landed on the back of his neck, a cold little stinging sensation.

"Bloody Christ," Draco muttered and held his face in his hands. His _mother?_ She was going to Owl his _mother?_ He couldn't _wait_ to see how _that_ went over.

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**Author's Note: **Thanks for reading. I'd love to hear from you—I can't make any promises, but I do hope to update sooner than last time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **As always, the Harry Potter universe belongs to J.K. Rowling and this is just my spin.

**Author's Note:** I so appreciate all the wonderful feedback I've been getting—thank you to everyone, I'm thrilled you all like it. Here is another installment, uploaded much sooner than last time, so I hope you all take a moment to applaud my excellence. Just kidding—but I would love to hear your thoughts in a review. Thanks.

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**In Which It Went Over**

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Ultimately, Draco couldn't sleep that night for a few reasons. All right, _one_ reason. Harry-bloody-Potter. His face was swimming in Draco's mind's eye, a big stupid grin plastered in place, his green eyes sparkling. Draco rolled and covered his face with his pillow, falling into a restless sleep.

The next morning as the Owl Post came, Draco slid down so far in his bench seat that his nose was level with the top of the breakfast table. Pansy was staunchly ignoring him, un-pursing her mouth only to insert forkfuls of food angrily. She scraped her fork against her teeth and spun to glare at Draco.

"I hope you know," she hissed viciously, "that I am very unhappy with you."

"Oh really? I couldn't _tell_," Draco hissed back, ducking under the table completely in hopes of avoiding the inevitable as he saw his own owl soaring toward him, an envelope clutched in his talons. The owl dropped the letter beneath the table, cocking his head at Draco. "All right, all right. Thanks, you stupid bird," Draco muttered and took the letter, ripping into it the way one rips a band-aid—quickly, and with one's eyes shut tightly.

Someone dropped their fork and it clattered beside Draco's left hand. Egg hit his thumb. A girl suddenly appeared beneath the table, reaching for her fork. She shrieked when she saw Draco.

"Professor!" she howled, hastily rising out from beneath the tabletop. "There's a boy underneath the table looking _up my skirt!_"

"No, I'm—" Draco began indignantly, but had to admit it _did_ rather look as if that were his plan. Snape had stormed over to the table and lifted Draco out from underneath it, gripping him hard by the back of his collar, much as a mother cat grips her kittens by the scruff of their neck.

"_Detention,_" Snape snarled into Draco's ear, "for inappropriate conduct beneath the breakfast table. My office at seven." He released Draco with a jerk. "For now, you are to see Professor McGonagall _immediately._" He gave Draco's shoulder a push in McGonagall's direction. Her mouth was non-existent, it was flattened into such a thin line. She cocked an eyebrow.

"Mister Malfoy, even I had thought better of you."

"I wasn't—it's not what—I was just looking at—" Draco stammered.

"I know perfectly _well_ what you were looking at, Mister Malfoy. We shall have a talk about _appropriate behavior_ of students at the end of breakfast. You may wait in the hall."

Draco slunk out to the hall and rested his back against the stone walls. He opened his letter.

_Dear Draco,_

_Pansy has told me everything. You should let Potter in on your Quidditch practise; it offers ample opportunity to learn his weaknesses, which can in turn be reported to…well, you know who I mean… Your father agrees whole-heartedly. We are looking forward to hearing from you. _

_Lovingly,_

_Mum_

_P.S. I'm so happy to hear you've accepted your marriage with Pansy so enthusiastically. She said you were "unable to shut up about it" in her letter. It's wonderful you won't be a disappointment to your father and me. _

Draco gulped and crumpled the letter in his fist. That devious little cow! Making sure he _couldn't_ back out of their marriage. What a little—what a little—_what_ a little witch! Perhaps she was rather cleverer than he had given her credit for.

Students began flooding into the hall—clearly breakfast had come to a close. Pansy was headed toward him. He noted she was not wearing The Shoes, but rather more sensible flats.

"Draco," she said coldly.

"Pansy," he said just as coldly. "I see you wrote my mum." He thrust the letter at her. She took it and read it slowly, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Don't think I don't know how to play you and your family, Draco—we've known each other far too long for me to be truly ignorant of your ways. I know they are the only people on this earth whose good graces you care to remain in. And marrying me will certainly keep you there." She shoved the crumpled letter into his chest and left him standing in the hall as she made her way to class.

"Potter," Draco snarled as the black-haired boy passed. He grabbed his arm and Harry swung around to face him. "I've been thinking about your offer to help out with practise. Be there at five today."

Harry looked taken aback for a moment. "Okay," he said slowly. "If you're planning on ambushing me, though, it won't work. Gryffindors are coming to watch."

"Fine, bring your Gryffindork friends—I don't care. You'll be playing Chaser."

At five that evening, Harry made his way to the Quidditch pitch to see the Slytherin team already grouped on the field, waiting.

"Where're your little friends?" Malfoy called, looking around. "Thought you said they were coming?"

"Ugh," Harry said, "they had homework." He cast a dark glance toward the castle.

"Mm," Draco said, in a fashion that clearly portrayed he thought Hedge and Weasel must've lied. "Get on your brooms, then, everyone."

Everyone lifted into the air. It felt strange to Harry to be soaring above the pitch with the _Slytherins_ of all people. He tried to keep his eye on the Quaffle, but it was so strange to be playing Chaser as opposed to Seeker. A half hour into the game, he saw the Snitch flash out of the corner of his eye and reflex caused him to spur his broom, shooting forth toward the small winged sphere. Draco had seen it as well, but he had not seen Harry. They both reached for the Snitch at the same precise moment, the velocity of their brooms causing them to smash into one another.

Harry vaguely registered Draco's scream as their brooms gave way and they began to fall. Incidentally, in his panic, Draco grappled at Harry's robes, looking to clutch anything, perhaps in the hopes it would stop his fall.

"Gerroff," Harry mumbled, trying to peel Malfoy's fingers from his collar to no avail.

They were spinning, only a few more feet until they crashed, surely. Draco, wide-eyed with panic, stared straight into Harry's anxious green eyes and yelled wordlessly, going red in the face. He would later recall this indignity and masterfully alter it in any retelling of the incident.

They smashed into the ground with bone jarring velocity, rolling across the pitch, tangled in one another, until they came to a final, breathless, standstill. Harry was beneath Draco, panting and wheezing, his glasses broken, his lip bloody.

"Oh God, oh my God," Draco wheezed breathlessly. "Oh my God…I'm alive."

Harry had placed his hand on Draco's chest and Draco experienced an instantaneous and involuntary flush of heat. Harry shoved him, hard.

"Gerroff," Harry wheezed. "Can't breathe."

Draco looked straight into Harry's eyes once more—"Your lip is bleeding," he said quietly. He almost leaned in—almost, _almost—_kissed him. Harry looked uneasy all at once and Draco remembered where he was—_Bloody Quidditch pitch, for God's sake—_and rolled off Harry to lie on his back, wheezing up at the sky. They lay there, panting, as the rest of the team hurried over to them.

"All right, Malfoy? Potter?" one of them asked. Harry didn't know his name.

Harry groaned something that sounded like, "All right." He raised a shaky hand to touch his glasses, grimacing when he felt how smashed they were. "Knew there was a reason I couldn't see properly," he muttered.

Draco, painful though it was, burst into laughter at the other boy's words. _Oh God…_he thought…_is this infatuation?_


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **J.K. Rowling's universe, obviously, this is just my spin.

**Author's Note: **Gosh—thanks so much to everyone for reviewing! And see what it gets you? A super-fast update. Mm-hm. You have to admit, that's pretty hot. Anyway, in this chapter, I like to think the plot thickens. Let me know what you think in a review—I love them so.

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**Chapter Four: In Which They Go To the Hospital Wing**

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"Nothing much to say about that, is there, Potter," Draco said comfortably from his sickbed in the school infirmary.He had a fluffy stack of pillows propped up behind his back and he turned to look at the black-haired boy residing in the bed beside his own.

"About what?" Harry said dully.

"You going after the Snitch. And after I specifically told you to play Chaser, too." Draco made a little tsking noise with his tongue and the roof of his mouth.

"Oh, shuddup," Harry said, a surly sort of attitude taking over. "I don't know what _you_ were thinking—thought you were going to bloody kiss me for a moment there."

Draco shut up for a moment, working to formulate a decent response. "As if it's that repulsive," he scoffed.

"Yes! It is!" Harry exclaimed, finally looking at Draco. "You don't get it, Malfoy—you're just not that great."

Draco bit his cheek. "I thought you wanted to—what were your words?—_get over_ our _hateful boundaries._ I believe that's what you said. And this is how you go about it?" Draco made sure he sounded haughty and aloof and carefree, but inside—and he hated to admit it, mind you—Potter had gotten to him.

"You haven't exactly made great leaps and bounds yourself, you great ferret." Harry scowled. Draco turned deliberately away to look out the window on the other side of his bed.

"How've you been getting on with Ginny, then? Made great leaps and bounds there?" Draco asked, curious needles pricking at the backs of his eyes. "Oh, wait—I forgot—she's going out with that _Thomas_ boy, isn't she. Hm." He continued to stare out his window. It was sunny out on the grounds and he hated it. Stupid weather. Stupid Christmas.

"_Don't_ you talk about Ginny. She's none of your business."

"Yeah, and she's _having_ none of _your_ business, either," Draco snapped back, the little needles that threatened tears ebbing.

Harry was suddenly out of his bed and on Draco's, a furious look on his face. He raised his fist and was about to pummel Draco's face and chest when Madam Pomfrey rushed in, yelling shrilly.

"Boys! Boys! Stop that, Mister Potter! I insist!" she shrieked. Harry clambered hurriedly off of Draco's bed and stood, shaking with fury, at the side of it.

"He was—he was—he was being really terrible," Harry said, lamely. "Saying things." He glared at the pale boy, who was cowering into his mound of pillows and only looking slightly reassured now that an authority figure had shown up in the form of Pomfrey.

"Get back in your bed, Mister Potter. You're not to be out and about yet. Back in bed!" She flapped her hands at him and he got in the bed and jerked the sheets up to his chin. "That will be enough of that," she said. "Settle down." She eyed them both for a few moments before returning to her office.

"You just shut up about Ginny," Harry hissed when she had gone. Draco staunchly ignored him, but silently promised that not another word about that girl would leave his lips. "And don't ever invite me to play for your team again," he added.

"My Quidditch team?"

"_Of course_ your Quidditch team. What_ else_ would I be talking about?" Harry exclaimed, still sounding furious.

"I don't know." Draco focused on watching a spider suck the juices out of a fly. Someone really ought to tidy up the infirmary—not as clean as he'd always assumed it was, apparently.

It was at this time Hedge and Weasel chose to visit the great Harry Potter. Draco kept his eyes averted as Hermione sat on the edge of Harry's bed and clutched his hand.

"We were so worried," she whispered in low tones, Ron nodding along beside her. Draco could _feel_ their glances; they practically burned holes in his head.

"I guess I'm the only one with visitors," Harry said, rather too loudly in Draco's opinion. "Guess I'm the only one with friends who _care._ Thanks—you guys are the best."

Draco had to admit he would've settled for a pop-in from Pansy. Even Crabbe or Goyle would've done the job. He mentally sighed and shifted around a bit. At least he got out of his detention with Snape.

The door to the school infirmary opened and none other than Theodore Nott strode in, looking about. His narrowed eyes landed on Malfoy and he made his way over.

"Malfoy," he said by way of greeting. "I see you're not dead yet. Very good, very good." He shoved his hands in his pockets and stood beside Draco's bed, not particularly intent on conversation. His gaze fell on the same spider and fly that Draco had so intently focused upon earlier. "Mm. Nasty, that," he said.

"Yeah," Draco agreed flatly, silently wondering what Theodore Nott was really doing. They weren't friends, were they?

"Well, I'm really just here to see Potter," Nott said. "So if you'll excuse me."

Draco blanched in embarrassment. Even Potter had the _Slytherins_ visiting him! Nott made his way around the foot of Draco's bed to stand behind Hermione's shoulder.

"Potter," he drawled. "Good to see you're doing well. Hint for you, though: don't bag on Malfoy. He's got friends in high places. We know if you've been rude, and we take it as a personal insult."

Ron and Hermione stiffened. "Oh, so what—_you've_ got a vendetta against me as well as Voldemort? Hardly something to make me quake in my shoes," Harry scoffed.

"I always knew you were an optimistic boy, Potter," Nott said, all trace of casual drawl gone, his voice now a terse clip. "But I think you'll find that there is magic far darker than what Voldemort possesses and far more powerful. The Notts have been around for many generations and come from only the most powerful wizarding families. I hate to pop any little bubble of disillusionment you had, Potter, but I don't exaggerate, and I don't play games. Shut up about Malfoy, or you'll find something much worse than the man who killed your parents on your doorstep."

"Sounds like you're proud of your inbreeding, Nott," Harry bit out. "And I highly doubt there are many wizards darker or more powerful than Voldemort."

"And therein lays your weakness, Potter. You've only known the wizarding world for six years. My entire history is the wizarding world." Theodore turned back to Draco. "You look well enough to go for a brief walk. Would you care?"

Draco swung his legs out over the edge of his bed and stood, pulling on his shoes hurriedly and grabbing his cloak from the bedside chair. Theodore jerked his head toward the door and Malfoy followed.

"You're welcome," Nott said once they were in the safety of the deserted halls.

"Thank you," Draco said belatedly. "I appreciate that. Is it true? About the dark wizards?"

"Oh, there are certainly darker wizards out there. They just have other sixteen-year-old boys to kill and prophecies to fulfill. I also like to think they're rather smarter than dear old Voldemort—we never really _do_ hear about them, do we? They must be doing something right."

"Is it true about your family, too?"

"My family has a long pureblood history and very strong connections, yes. I am not at liberty to disclose in great detail."

Draco was a bit impressed, but bit down on his tongue to keep from coming across like a great gibbering idiot.

"He is rather correct about the inbreeding, however—that does tend to happen with true purebloods. It's a bit sad."

"Is it true that you could pull strings and get some of those wizards to go after Potter?" Draco asked

"Lord, no," Theodore said. "Not me." He looked at Draco out of the corner of his eye as they walked. "Did it sound like I could?"

"Yes."

"Mm." A small, satisfied smile flickered across Theodore's features. After a few more moments of silence, he said, "Don't let him bully you, Malfoy. It's just not your style."

Draco jerked his head once in a nod. "Promfey will be noticing I'm gone. I should go back."

"Yes," Theodore agreed. "See you, then."

"See you." Draco watched as Theodore moved off down the hallway, his hands in his pockets, his stride long and easy.

When Draco crawled back into his bed at the infirmary, he noticed Hedge and Weasel had finally buggered off. Harry was lying in his own bed, his eyes shut firmly. He was snoring rather too loudly for Draco to believe he was sleeping; that was ok, let him pretend—Draco certainly didn't want to chat him up. He fell backward onto his pillows and shut his eyes. This time, strangely, it was Theodore's sullen grey eyes that pushed their way into his mind's eye and not Harry's brilliant green ones.

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**Author's Note: **Um, just so you know, there's this nifty little button down below that lets you leave reviews…it's really cool—wanna give it a try? ; )


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, yo. J.K.'s.

**Author's Note: **Oh wow—another update. I'll bet you all were getting bored, waiting. I guess this calls for an appreciative review…ahem…hint-hint.

In addition to this being an update, I should warn you--the "F" word makes a few appearances, a derogartory term rears its ugly head, and some people do some snogging...if you're offended by these things, or are too young for them, turn back now. You have been warned. ;)

- - -

**Chapter Five: In Which There is a Discovery**

- - -

Pomfrey released Potter and Malfoy the next morning, calling after them to be careful as they hurried from the room. Draco stalked to the Great Hall, resolved to tell Pansy what was what. And that he wasn't going to marry her, even if she were blackmailing him. That'd show the little cow.

"Draco!" Pansy exclaimed as he approached the Slytherin table. "How are you?"

"You could have come to see me yesterday," he said coolly, "if you're so set on marrying me." Draco felt Theodore's eyes on him and he turned. The other boy was sitting in his usual spot near the end of the table. There was an English muffin on his plate, and he had a honey bottle upside down over it, the golden confection piling and overflowing from the muffin to the plate. "Honey," Draco said, gesturing to the plate. Something unrecognizable flickered across Nott's face.

"What?" he asked.

"Your _honey_," Draco said again and grabbed Theodore's wrist, turning the honey bottle upright. Theodore looked, startled, at his plate.

"Oh. Thanks." He grabbed his fork and turned to his plate, ignoring Draco, who had turned back to Pansy.

"I'd expect more of you. If you're going to blackmail me into marrying you, you might as well try and make a good future wife." He seated himself across from her and stabbed a sausage from the stack, setting it on his own plate.

"I didn't—I'm not—you would've married me anyway," she stammered. Draco watched her; his wordless gaze clearly made her uncomfortable.

"Are you really so sure of that?" he asked and she looked away, her face a bright red. "I didn't think so."

"I—you're just—" she stammered a bit more.

"Don't write to my mother again," Draco said, looking at his own muffin as he buttered it. His eyes met hers suddenly. "Stunts like you pulled yesterday don't work with me, Parkinson. And they don't work with my parents. It would be advisable to remember that." Draco felt Theodore's eyes on him again and he shifted in his seat to look. He caught the flicker of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. Theodore returned his eyes to his plate, an amused sort of air settling about him as he bit into an orange, juice squirting forth and hitting a tall, thin girl on the cheek.

"Nott," she reprimanded sternly. "I thought I told you I don't like it in the face," she said. Draco, startled by her words, stared at Theodore, who was grinning madly, his eyebrows raised wickedly.

"I remember now," he said to the girl, his voice a little hoarse. "Sorry." He winked and the girl cracked a half-smile, eyeing him devilishly.

"I'm sure you do," she said coyly, curling a strand of her dark, dark hair around her finger. She had pale, pale skin and full, plum-colored lips with large fawn-like eyes fringed by fronds of dark, sooty lashes. Draco's pulse kicked up at the thought of what she and Theodore had done—or acted like they had done.

"Who was she?" Draco asked after breakfast as the swarm of students headed for their classes. He tugged at the collar of his robes.

"Lucy," Nott said on a sigh. "Lucy Spungen. Swear to God, she's the devil's daughter." He cast a quick glance over his shoulder at the girl, several yards behind them. "God," he muttered to himself.

"Do you like her?" Draco asked, wondering why he cared.

"Do I _like_ her? Look at her, Malfoy. She's candy." His grey eyes flickered over to Draco's. "We were just playing at the table, if that's what you're wondering. Nothing's ever happened between us. Though if there were one girl I had to do something with…it'd be her." Nott closed his eyes for a moment. He opened them again. "Father hates her, of course—she's a half-blood. Her mum was a Muggle. But her mum was a model, too. I say her Muggle-dom is completely forgiven because she turned out something that looks like Lucy."

Draco nodded his silent agreement. She _was_ very pretty. Prettier than Pansy. "I've never seen her before," Draco said. Theodore eyed him.

"Maybe you weren't looking. You've been pretty focused on the Gryffindor table lately…if you catch my drift."

Draco's jaw clenched. "You know, I rather thought you would've stopped bringing that up. I don't have a thing for Harry-fucking-Potter," he snarled. Nott looked slightly taken aback. He recovered quickly.

"Didn't know it was a touchy subject. But it's obvious you're—"

"_What?_" Draco spun on him, stopping in his tracks, an icy glare focused on Theodore's face. "I'm _what? _ Say it—I know you want to. You think I'm a fag, don't you? Why do you care so much if I _am?_ Why do you have to bloody fucking _prove_ it? Isn't it enough that you know without having to rub it in?"

Theodore was silent for a long moment and they stared at one another, Draco fuming, his hands clenched into fists at his side; Theodore's face was blank, but his eyes were hard, his jaw stiff.

"Someone's bound to call you a fag during your lifetime, Malfoy," he said in the same terse clip he'd used on Potter days before. "Are you going to react like _that_ every time it happens? You're bound to get tired from all the shouting you'd be doing. Just be glad _I'm _the first one to call you on it." He spun on his heel and left, his stride pointed and purposeful. Draco felt aggravated—he wanted to punch something, anything, but preferably Nott himself. A good solid fist to the gut ought to do the trick.

His anger remained with him for the rest of the day, radiating off of him in a tangible sort of fury as he moved unthinkingly through his classes, through his homework, through the everyday motions one must go through. By the time he had settled in the Slytherin common room, he was irritable and snappish, but had at least lost the urge to punch Nott.

When Pansy sidled up to him that evening, making sure to sit extra close so they were thigh to thigh, he clenched his jaw and looked away.

"You're not still mad, are you?" she whispered in his ear, twirling her fingers in the short hair at the nape of his neck. "Because I was thinking I should…apologise," she murmured, her breath tickling his neck and ear, her body pressed against his side. He turned suddenly and was kissing her, his mouth pressed hard against her own, his arms going around her waist to pull her tight against him. He was determined to be turned on. He was _not_ a fag. Pansy slipped her tongue inside his mouth and Draco thought about Harry Potter and his green eyes—those Goddamn eyes that everyone talked about and Draco couldn't seem to forget. Pansy put a hand on his chest, her thin fingers splaying out in a lovely, pale way against his black robes. Draco thought of Lucy Spungen and willed himself to experience a thrill of excitement. Pansy shifted so that she was even closer to Draco—air molecules had no space to fit between them. Draco bit at her lower lip and Pansy bit back. Draco thought, unbidden, of Theodore Nott and experienced a boiling, tingling heat spreading throughout the entirety of his body, his pulse kicking up as he wondered what it would be like to bite at Theodore's thin lower lip, look into his clear grey eyes and see _want_ there. He bit down hard and Pansy shrieked, pulling away.

"Ow," she said, glaring at Draco reproachfully, holding her tongue between her thumb and forefinger.

"Sorry," Draco muttered and ran a hand through his hair. He crossed his legs and folded his arms over his middle. It definitely wasn't Pansy that had turned him on. "I didn't mean to," he muttered but she just rolled her eyes, stood, straightened her skirt, shook her head at him, and stalked off toward the girls' dormitory.

"Out of practise?" someone said from behind him. Draco twisted.

"Nott," he said coolly.

Theodore rolled his eyes. "_Malfoy._ Why've you gone all iceberg on me? Was it something I said?"

Malfoy snorted and turned away again, determined to ignore him.

"Aw, don't be _mad_,_"_ Theodore mockingly cajoled, an undertone of malice in his voice. "I've gotten Potter to agree to meet you tomorrow at five on the pitch. You should go. Wouldn't want to leave him…waiting."

"I told you." Draco whirled again. "I don't have a thing for Potter."

"Go anyway," Theodore sneered and turned his back on the paler boy. "I bet you will."

Draco bit down hard on his tongue. Of course he would, but Theodore didn't need to know that.

- - -

**Author's Note: **Thanks for reading, everyone. I really appreciate it. Drop me a line!


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **It's never going to be mine. It belongs to J.K. Rowling.

**Author's Note: **Eh. I apologise for the excruciating length of time between the last update and this one. Honestly, I had written something but wasn't sure about it. Then I got about a billion wonderful reviews from Anidori-Kiladra and was suddenly like, "Ohmguh. I should upate." So, I hope it's up to par, and if not, another update will be out soon to make up for it. Let me know what you think by dropping a review. They really, really make my day. (Everyone says that, so you might doubt me, but if you've ever gotten a review, you _know_ it's true.)

Also, another quick note: if the relationships in this fic are confusing, I apologise, but also want to let you know that I plan to resolve everything in a tidy fashion and for now my characters are "complicated."

- - -

**Chapter Six: In Which Devious Plans Backfire**

- - -

Draco made his way slowly but determinedly to the Quidditch pitch, the snow making the hems of his robes heavy, dragging as he slushed through the white fluff.

If he was going to go down, he was going to go down in flames. And he was definitely going down. The way he saw it, when Theodore found out that he did, in fact, go to the field just as he had predicted, Draco would not hear the end of it. Ultimately, Theodore would find out that Draco came to the field far sooner than Draco had predicted himself.

Currently, Theodore was crouched behind a bush by the Quidditch stands, his knees wet from the snow, his fingers icy cold. His original plan, of course, had been to simply see if Draco would show up, therefore proving Theodore's suspicion that he had a bit of a "thing" for the Potter bloke. As he watched now, though, he considered that it may have been one of his worst plans ever. You see, it had been the sort of idea that Nott could see several holes and discrepancies in. He knew there were chances for things to go wrong. However, he had not calculated in the fact that Harry might actually _be_ out on the Quidditch pitch at five o'clock.

Harry Potter was flying low to the ground, so low that he could kick his foot out and send up clumps of snow. He had a Snitch in his hand and was repeatedly releasing it, then catching it, over and over.

Theodore glued his eyes to the castle front and finally, _finally_, saw a dark figure making his way to the pitch. It was, of course, Draco.

When Draco had come to a standstill on the edge of the field, Harry lowered his broom and trudged through the cold white weather on the ground toward him.

"Oy," Harry called.

"Hello," Draco said back. His cheeks looked flushed from the cold. He averted his grey eyes to scan the sky. "So."

"I was just going to head in," Harry began awkwardly, not sure why the pale Slytherin was talking to him.

"I guess I should say sorry," Draco interjected. "For saying that thing about Ginny. She probably likes you fine."

Harry's face flushed red. "Oh," he muttered, kicking his toe into the snow. "I dunno." One shoulder had hitched its way up his neck in an embarrassed shrug. "Whatever." Harry bent suddenly, scooping up a handful of snow and rounding it into a ball. "Catch!" he said and tossed it at Draco's chest. Draco, whose reflexes had never been lightening fast, missed it and it splattered across the chest of his robes. He opened his mouth wordlessly as a few slivers from the snowball dripped down his collar, sending frigid little rivulets down his skin.

He scooped up snow and flung it at Harry, who dodged and in turn foisted another fistful of snow at Draco. Eventually they were just scooping up armfuls of the stuff and flinging it in the general direction of each other. Harry flung one particularly well-aimed snowball and hit Draco smack in the nose. Draco wondered briefly if this was Potter's barbaric version of flirting.

"God!" Draco bellowed, wiping at his eyes. "You'll pay for that!" He lunged toward the darker boy, tackling him into the snow, laughing as they kicked up the whiteness around them. They rolled down a slight slope off the edge of the Quidditch pitch and when they stopped, Harry was on top of Draco, panting, his glasses fogged up horribly.

"Oh," he said and shifted about a bit. However, he didn't entirely move off. "I—uh—sorry," he said after a few awkward seconds. He hoisted himself up, narrowly missing Draco's groin with his knee. Draco cringed inwardly. Harry had extended his hand. "I'll help you up," he said. Draco gripped Harry's wrist and couldn't help but notice how lovely and long Harry's fingers were, thin and agile, perfect for catching Snitches and… perfect for some other things, too.

"Thought you were going to kiss me for a minute, there," Draco said jokingly, referring back to Harry's previous accusation. However, instead of retorting loudly, Harry laughed nervously and flushed red once more.

"Nah," he mumbled. Draco arched a platinum blonde eyebrow, but said nothing.

Theodore, of course, couldn't hear this entire exchange, but he could tell enough by the looks on their faces and the proximity of their bodies. He rose to his feet and began the trek toward the great, hulking castle, an odd sort of ache at the back of his throat and in the core of his chest.

When he reached the Great Hall, he ran into Lucy Spungen, in all her dark glory—dark curls, dark eyes, dark lips…Theodore's breath caught in his throat as she turned, startled, toward him.

"Lucy," he said by way of greeting, careful to keep his voice neutral."Theodore," she said, glancing over her shoulder. Her tones were hushed. "Don't tell anyone you saw me, all right? Please?"

Theodore frowned. "What's going on?"

"I can't tell you. I wasn't expecting anyone to be in the halls right now, I—you're—just promise you won't tell."

"I like to think I'm a man of my word, Spungen, but I don't do _everything_ for free. Particularly because I have no interest to keep your secrets. Nothing in it for me, you see." He shoved his hands in his pockets casually and cocked his head, thinking. "A kiss," he decided suddenly. "I won't tell anyone I saw you if you kiss me."

Lucy raised an eyebrow mischievously and took a step nearer to him. "A kiss?" she confirmed. Theodore nodded. She moved slowly toward him, her dark eyes locked on his grey ones. Another step. Another. She was an inch away. If she took a deep breath, they'd end up touching. They were that close.

"So?" he said, fighting to keep his heartbeat in order. He hated to think that the mysterious Mister Nott could be flustered by a _girl._

"So," she murmured, inching her face closer to his, her lips devastatingly near. He could feel her gentle breath on his face, warm after the cold air outside. She looked into his eyes once more, glanced down at his mouth, then back to his eyes. She was so close. "It's not _that_ important for you to keep quiet." She stepped away, turned, and was suddenly miles and miles from him, cold air rushing in to take her place.

"Later, then, Nott. Keep in mind I don't give out sexual favours just for boys to keep their mouths shut. It's insulting you think I would." She gave him the briefest of winks and headed down the hallway. He trained his eyes on the ceiling so he wouldn't look at the way her hips moved or the way her skirt swayed back and forth. He was resolved: he would _not _objectify her. Although, of course, he kind of already had. He bit his lip, relived the moment once, and headed off for the Slytherin common rooms.

…Maybe she'd be there.

- - -

**Author's Note: **Thanks for reading. Another update soon.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter universe, etc. etc. J.K. Rowling does…you know the drill.

**Author's Note:**Ok, there are a few reasons I think this update calls for celebration. First and foremost, it's an update. C'mon, guys, I've been doing really well lately. Yeah? Secondly, it's the longest chapter yet—nine pages, as opposed to my usual five to six. I hope you enjoy it, because I certainly had fun writing it.

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**Chapter Seven: In Which Something Happens, as it Does in Every Chapter**

- - -

She was a saucy sort of girl, with her long red hair and those infuriating freckles sprinkled liberally across her pale face.

"Malfoy," she said. Draco looked up from his book to see the youngest Weasley tapping her foot impatiently. "We need to talk."

"This is the library," Draco hissed.

"Then come into the hallway." She turned and headed for the library doors. She was _so_ confident he would follow that she didn't even bother checking over her shoulder. Draco was determined to stay in his seat and let her see where her confidence got her, but his curiosity took hold of him and propelled him out the door after her.

She was standing with her arms folded over her chest. "I hear you've been rude to Harry. And you should know you have me to answer to. I believe you've been acquainted with my Bat Bogey hex?"

"Intimately," Draco sniped. "Listen, _Harry's_ been rude to _me._ And you're behind on the times. We're over that." He flashed back to their snowball fight and how it ended with Harry, flustered and on top of him.

Ginny arched an eyebrow. "Yes, well, that fact that it _happened_ is really enough." She absentmindedly fiddled with her wand. Although, Draco supposed it wasn't so absentmindedly.

"If you hex me…" he warned.

"You'll what? Come up with some biting comeback three days later? You can owl it to me." She laughed, sort of maliciously, he noted. He wondered if Harry knew what it was like to be on her bad side; if he did…he probably wouldn't want to date her. Ginny frowned at him as though she'd just heard his thoughts. "I'm not going to hex you anyway, Malfoy. Yet." She pursed her lips in thought. "The truth is—the truth is—oh, come here." She grabbed the collar of his robes and yanked him into the nearest broom closet. It was very dark inside.

"You want me?" Draco asked, feeling slightly mollified for her earlier snarkiness.

"No! Blegh!" She shoved him in the chest and he stumbled backward half a step before hitting the wall of the closet. "The thing is…you want Harry. At first I thought it was ridiculous. But you know Hermione—she's very perceptive about these sorts of things, and almost always right. And my God—you have to start watching yourself at the breakfast table, because—if no place else—it's at least obvious there. You're constantly ogling Harry. I'm sorry, Malfoy, but…"

"But what?" he snapped.

"Your secret's out." She paused, rather dramatically. "And it's not safe with me." She shoved open the closet door and stepped out. Malfoy hesitated to follow. "Coming out of the _closet_, Malfoy, or will I have to drag you?" she said loudly.

"Jesus Christ, hush _up_ Weasley." Draco stomped angrily out of the closet. "You and your stupid…analogies…metaphors…whatever that was…Jesus…can't leave a boy alone, can you?"

"Not when he's after my man." She stuck out her chin, twirled away from him, and stalked off down the hallway.

"_Dating_ him might be a step toward claiming him as _yours_," he called. "But if I recall correctly, you've gone _nowhere near him!_" Stupid Weasley. He had no doubt people would be murmuring about the gay Slytherin by breakfast. He slunk back into the library, already feeling imaginary glares at his back.

- - -

Though Draco's mother was a fairly devout Death Eater (and that title came with all sorts of baggage, like cold and uncaring, distant, etc.) she was still a mother, and constantly urged him to sit with her and talk about how troubled and complicated he was feeling as a teenager. She would always start conversations with things like, "It might seem like Wizards don't have to experience the same things Muggles do, Draco, but human beings are human beings and bodies change. What you're experiencing is puberty!" She would then grasp his hand and smile as if this were something he didn't find terribly disgusting. Or, "Every one has hormones. Even you. At your age, they do things—" she would then launch into how bodies change and grow and develop and it's a miracle and look at her baby now and "you're probably starting to notice girls in new ways"—ha, if only she knew—"and their bodies are changing, too. They began to develop—" Draco usually left the room long before she made it to this point but he had once heard about the horrible, horrible things girls' bodies do. And it was enough to stay with him forever. His mother _always_ talked about teenagers and their raging hormones and he always left the room because there was nothing so humiliating and embarrassing as a conversation about what your body was doing rampantly and involuntarily…but he reluctantly agreed with her. Everywhere he looked, he was falling in lust with people—albeit, mostly boys and sort of Lucy Spungen—to the point of distraction!

Draco saw it one of two ways. First, he could embrace the miracle of puberty and hormones and all the other weird things his mother liked and give in to his driving urge to jump Potter or Nott. Or, the alternative, he could rebel and rail against his body and hormones and whasits and convince himself that he was doggedly attracted to Parkinson, firm in his desire to marry her, and steady in his wish to have pale, pug-nosed little Malfoys with her. A little shudder vibrated in his chest.

As he thought about how detestable that last thought was, his eyes traveled to Harry Potter, his dark head bent over his plate as Ginny chattered at him. Draco startled. _That_ was new. Ginny usually sat with that Thomas boy and a few other forgettable people. She _didn't _usually sit with Harry.

Draco tried to catch Theodore's eye and ask him if he knew what was up—he seemed to know everything, that boy did—but Nott was engaged in a heated conversation with the Spungen girl.

"I did _not_ tell," Theodore spat.

"Well, _someone_ did and you're the only person I saw!"

"What would I have said? Yeah, I _saw_ you. Doesn't particularly give anything away, does it?"

Lucy pursed her lips and Draco noticed that Theodore, even in his anger, couldn't help but look admiringly at her features.

"You said you weren't interested in keeping my secrets. That practically proves you were the one." Her eyes flashed and her jaw was taut.

"And you said it wasn't that important that your secrets were kept. So even if I _did_ say something—which I didn't, mind you—you shouldn't be this upset."

"Listen, you—" Lucy's voice was hushed—"if you told on me…"

"You'll what?" Nott challenged. Lucy jerked and Theodore exclaimed, "Ouch! You kicked me!" Lucy staunchly ignored him.

"I was in the common room until eleven. You never came back. It's obvious you were out way past curfew, which means you were with a boy. Just because I've got you figured out doesn't mean I tattled," Theodore hissed.

"That's a fairly weighty accusation," Lucy said coldly. "And you have no proof to back it up. Interesting way to make an argument, Theodore."

"No," Theodore hissed, suddenly angry, suddenly very angry—and at no one but himself—"I'm not accusing you of being a tart. I think you probably have a very meaningful, well-established relationship with him and that your times together are full of care and respect and that you're ultimately satisfied and going to marry the bloke." He found himself glaring and tried to smooth his face out. He was startled to see a glimmer of tears in her eyes.

"You don't seem like the type of boy to be wrong very often, Theodore Nott. But when you're wrong, you are _very _wrong. I don't care what you think of me. But certainly watch what you _say._" She had looked fairly cool and collected the entire time but now she wiped a hand furiously beneath her eyes and turned to her breakfast, stabbing a sausage with unnecessary force. Theodore felt there was intended symbolism and intent there. He bit his tongue and turned to his own plate, looking slightly sick to his stomach. Draco wondered if it was because someone had just figured him out.

Either way, it was nothing _he_ wanted to bellyache over. Ginny was edging in on Draco's territory—or so he liked to think—and was…and was…was that _flirting_ going on at the Gryffindor table? His hands were suddenly gripping the edge of the thick wooden tabletop and he felt his pulse kick up. That terrible, terrible Weasley girl! He couldn't hear what they were saying, but Ginny had her hand on Harry's arm and was laughing into his eyes and looking all happy and snuggly like young couples were supposed to.

"_Theodore,_" Draco barked, and Nott jerked his head up, looking irritated. "Do you know anything about Ginny Weasley?"

"Zabini's got a bit of a thing for her. But he's also got a bit of a thing for that Smith boy…bloody Hufflepuffs. Bloody Slytherins, for that matter. Are we all flaming?"

"That's not what I meant," Draco said. "Why is she suddenly talking to Harry Potter?"

Theodore rolled his eyes. "Well, see, ever since the Chamber was opened—maybe before, I can't be sure—Weasley's been infatuated with Potter. He's sort of been the staple of her dreams. She's probably got some sort of complex or something…those powerful boys seem to turn her right on. Tom and all, you know, though that was a little kinky, if you ask me. Getting all hot and bothered over a memory trapped in a diary? I tell you, girls these days go for anything. No standards at all anymore."

"Shut up! That's not relevant. I don't even know how you know all that. I mean why is she talking to Harry _now_?"

"Connections in the family," Theodore interjected, "are how I know all that. And maybe something spurred her into action. Have you said anything particularly stupid lately?"

Draco sat back and considered. Theodore certainly was being a snarky little bugger. Of course, he didn't know it was because Theodore was still a little stung from Draco's devotion to Harry Potter, supposedly the boy who was going to bring down the Dark Lord.

"Well, she did corner me the other day," Draco admitted. "She called me gay and said I was after her man. And then I said she couldn't really call him her man if she wasn't dating him."

"And therein lays the genius of you, Malfoy. You've gone and done yourself in by telling her to date him. How _do_ these things come out your mouth?"

"You know, Draco—"

Draco startled—was Lucy Spungen actually joining the conversation?

"It sounds like you have a problem," she continued. "Maybe you should just tell Harry how you feel. It seems to work when girls do it."

Theodore nodded. "There is that. He's obviously not _that_ interested in the little chit." He inclined his head toward Potter and Draco followed his gaze.

Ginny was still chattering in Harry's ear, but Harry was focused on Draco, his green eyes narrowed in thought. Draco quickly looked away and poked his fork at his pancakes.

"Okay," he said suddenly. "I'll tell him. I'll tell him that I—that I—that I—"

"Draco?" Pansy Parkinson came into focus. Her lower lip was trembling, and the beginnings of tears had smudged the makeup at the corners of her eyes. "Do you really fancy him?"

"Well, I—" honestly, Draco just wasn't sure how this had all come out at the breakfast table. "I suppose I do," he muttered.

"Oh," she said in a very small voice. She pressed her fingers beneath her eyes, attempting to blot the tears off. "Oh."

There was dead silence at the Slytherin table. Apparently _everyone_ had been listening in. Draco fidgeted awkwardly.

"I suppose there's no point in mentioning that I do love you then, is there." Pansy snuffled quietly and didn't look at Draco.

"Guess not, Parkinson," Theodore said loudly. "Looks like Malfoy's only got eyes for the Boy Who Lived." He sounded angry. "So hop to it, Ferret."

Draco jerked his head up at the unwanted reminder of past experiences and past insults thrown between the trio and himself. "Shut up, Nott," he snapped, rising halfway to his feet. "You just shut up. Just because _you_ can't find anyone to shag you doesn't mean you get to take it out on _me._"

"Oh, you think _that's_ the case, do you? I'll have you know I can have a shag anytime I please." Now Theodore was on his feet as well.

"Yeah, with Mrs. Norris," Draco shot back.

Theodore gave out a strangled, choking laugh. "Fuck you, Draco."

"Yeah, I think most everyone wants to. _You_ probably want to."

Theodore's jaw snapped shut. He was grinding his teeth and could feel a hot flush working up his neck and face. "Well at least you've figured _something_ out, then." He spun on his heel and marched down the length of the Great Hall, pushed open the double doors and disappeared.

There was a shocked silence at the Slytherin table. Draco sighed and sank back into his seat. "Bloody fuck," he said after a moment and let his head fall to his arms resting on the table. He could just envision the next conversation with his mum. _"How's everything at school? Are you feeling complicated and troubled, darling?"_ Oh, the things he wouldn't tell her.

- - -

**Author's Note: **Well, thanks for reading. Care to review? Pwease?


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **J.K. Rowling created the Harry Potter universe. I just play here. With Theodore.

**Author's Note:** Hey everyone, thanks for reading. As always, I love reviews but I kind of hate saying so because it looks like I'm begging. Which I am. Anyway, for those of you who were itching for a little something, here it is. The F-word comes up again…it's actually kind of a staple in my writing, but I generally hold back in fan fiction…but not with this fic, I suppose. And two guys make out, which you shouldn't be too surprised by since this _is_ slash. But here's a heads up anyway.

- - -

**Chapter Eight: In Which Confessions Are Made**

- - -

Draco didn't talk to Theodore for five days. He didn't see Theodore for five days. In fact, he wasn't even sure Theodore was still around. But Theodore had always been good at avoiding things.

Malfoy walked stiffly to his classes, his jaw almost constantly taut, his shoulders tight and bunched with knots of stress and anxiety.

Pansy didn't talk to him, either. He hadn't gotten any owls from his parents. He suspected Pansy wrote them and told them the marriage was off. Then again, he would have received a Howler if that were the case.

Crabbe and Goyle weren't even tagging along behind him anymore and he picked up a few clues as to why. Mostly from the time he walked in on a conversation they were having about how they didn't like that he was gay.

"Total fag!" Goyle had been exclaiming loudly when he'd walked in the room, Crabbe nodding along sanctimoniously.

"Total fag," Draco had echoed quietly before turning and leaving.

So currently, he was feeling a little lonely and decided that it was time to do something about Harry. It was probably just time to do Harry. Either way, he'd have to talk to him. So it was very convenient when Draco rounded the corner and smacked into Harry.

"Potter!" he barked. "I've been looking for you." They were nose to nose. Harry took a fumbling step backward.

"You found me, I guess."

"We need to talk," Malfoy said and gripped Harry's forearm. "You have a moment?"

"Well, I need to get to—"

"Good, precisely what I was hoping. In here." Draco pushed Harry into a small, empty closet.

"Uh…Malfoy…what's this about?"

"I like you, Potter."

Harry made a noise like he was being strangled. He coughed, started to double over, smacked heads with Draco, and backed into the wall. "Oh. Wow," he finally managed to wheeze.

"I like you a lot. Want to do something about it?" the paler boy asked. His hands were sweating and he tried to discreetly dry them on his robes.

"I—I—" Harry stammered. Draco leaned in close. He couldn't even see Harry's face in the dark of the closet, which could make for a potentially embarrassing situation if his aim was off.

His aim was way off.

He ended up missing Harry's face entirely and decided to turn the fumble into a sort of awkward shove. "Make up your mind, boy," Draco tried gruffly. "Haven't got all day." He could tell his cheeks were a brilliant red. Couldn't even find someone's face to kiss them. Good God.

"I—I—I'll think about it," Harry stammered some more. Draco twisted the doorknob on the closet and shoved Harry out.

"Do that, yeah," Malfoy hissed and shut himself back in the dark and sat on an upturned crate for what was probably the entire class period, his head in his hands as he replayed his stumble about a million times. At least he was able to patch together _some_ sort of cover.

- - -

Draco didn't see Harry for the rest of that day. He didn't see Theodore for the rest of that day. He didn't see Pansy, Crabbe, or Goyle. He saw that Smith boy from Hufflepuff, but couldn't figure out why Zabini could have any sort of "thing" for him.

The next morning, however, a few seemingly momentous things happened. The first one came in the form of the youngest Weasley. She was sitting very close to Potter at the breakfast table and Potter was kissing her. He initiated it and everything. Draco supposed it hadn't taken Potter all that long to think about what Draco had said the day before. Malfoy could feel his face turning a heated red, could feel his hands clenching and unclenching in his lap, could feel a cold sweat break out on his forehead. He had been humiliated. He had been betrayed. He hadn't even been told.

Draco found himself rising from the Slytherin table and walking hurriedly from the Great Hall, images blurred as his anger and panic rose. He shoved the double doors roughly and took off at a run for the common room.

He burst into the boys' dorm and set about a frenzied pace, touching the wall, gripping a bedpost, rocking a dresser with a shove. His breath came shallow and fast. He was a fool to tell Potter how he felt. How he thought he felt. A fool to let himself be so vulnerable, to be so open.

He spun and came face to face with Theodore who was leaning in the doorway, thinner than usual and looking grey. Malfoy choked on a dry sob and spun away from Theodore, running his hands through his hair, clutching his head as he fell apart. It was enough that he was a fag. It was enough that everyone else knew he was a fag. It was enough that he'd actually said something about it to Potter. It was enough that Potter completely and shamelessly rejected him. He didn't need Nott there to rub it in his face, like salt in a wound.

Theodore grabbed Draco's shoulders from behind, spun him around, and shoved him hard into the wall. There was a moment—a fraction of a second—where their grey eyes met before Theodore roughly kissed Draco, biting at his lower lip so that it actually hurt, pressing his mouth hard against the other boy's, shoving him harder into the wall, pushing his body against Draco's.

Draco grabbed Theodore's collar, remembered how he had wondered what it would be like to kiss Theodore, to see his grey eyes like they were now, and he bit at Nott's thin lower lip, jerked against him as weird spasms of want flickered and spiked inside him, driving him. Nott relaxed his hold on Draco's shoulders slightly and traveled down his jaw, trailing kisses to his neck, to his earlobe…Theodore pressed his face into Draco's shoulder and shook, his hands gripping Malfoy's upper arms now. He said something, but it was muffled.

"What?" Draco asked breathlessly, practically panting, wanting desperately to touch Theodore some more.

"I said," Theodore pulled away and looked Draco in the eyes, "I think I really like you." He paused. Then, "Fuck." He took a step away, his arms falling to his side, but this time Draco moved forward.

"No," he said and caught the front of Theodore's shirt. "Don't." He couldn't really formulate complete sentences. He realized that his brain was rather messed up over Theodore, decided he didn't really care all that much for complete sentences anyway, and caught the boy's lips to his own again.

"Get off me," Theodore said suddenly and shoved Draco hard. "This is just because of Potter."

"Then why the bleeding fuck did _you_ kiss _me?_" Draco bellowed, rather disturbed to find himself mentally describing his current state of being as hot and bothered.

"I already _told_ you—_because I really like you_," Theodore bellowed back.

"Well, maybe _I_ like _you_," Draco said and jabbed a finger into Nott's chest as he bit off the words.

"You like Potter," Theodore said firmly and Draco rolled his eyes and fell backward onto one of the beds in exasperation.

"Well, I didn't know there were better things out there," Draco muttered and let his arm fall across his eyes. When he moved his arm, he saw Theodore staring at him.

"Get up," Theodore snapped, "before I jump you."

- - -

**Author's Note: **I hope you all enjoyed this chapter…some people were waiting for some action, I think. I hope you all take a moment to review, because I'd like to think this is very review-worthy stuff. ;)


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **J.K. Rowling's universe, my playground.

**Author's Note: **Well, after a ridiculously long break from this story I return to you feeling refreshed and happy. I have read _Deathly Hallows_ and it shattered a few things, decided it's my favorite Potter book yet, and returned to the realm of fan fiction, where Draco and Theodore and Harry are involved in a torrid triangle of love, lust, and fantasy. Rawr. Thank goodness for fluff, in which I can wrap myself for comfort. So, enjoy the update—I think it's longer than usual.

- - -

**Chapter Nine: In Which We See More of Draco**

- - -

Draco supposed he had expected some drastic sort of change following the events of That Night—(dubbed so because he didn't care to mentally state over and over again "the time I experienced a really excellent snog with Theodore Nott" due to how much he was thinking about it)—but none came. The next morning, he entered the History of Magic classroom displaying some awkward trepidation as he took a seat at the same table as Nott.

Theodore had his chin resting in his palm, his hand over his mouth and his neutral grey eyes were gazing fixedly at a midpoint.

"'Lo," Draco mumbled. Theodore graced him with a brief glance and flicked his eyebrows in greeting. Draco gave a very heavy mental sigh and pulled his books from his bag and set them on the table, straightening out a piece of parchment, and selecting one of his nicer quills for note-taking. As he was going about, enjoying the tedium, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Theodore was staring at him. "What?" he snapped.

"You always have been rather prissy, then, haven't you?" Theodore snatched up the quill that Draco had carefully aligned parallel to his parchment, twirled it once, and set it back down with a skew. "Hm."

"Do we need to talk?" Draco asked, straightening the quill once more.

"About what?" Theodore was staring at the midpoint again, three different expressions flickering on his face ranging from slightly amused, to slightly panicked, to pointedly disinterested.

"Nothing," Draco grumbled as the professor wafted in and took his place in front of the board. Theodore looked distinctly relieved.

- - -

Draco did not see Theodore in any of their later classes that day—_Probably skipping, the little berk—_he thought grumpily, which was partly due to an empty, growling stomach. Thank Merlin they had lunch hour. When he got to the table and took his seat, Blaise Zabini was talking to Theodore and Lucy, which was unusual, because for five years Zabini hadn't said a word.

"That Smith boy," he was muttering, glancing feverishly over at the Hufflepuff table, "is…" he bit his lip, his dark eyes flashing, "frustrating."

Lucy shifted uncomfortably. "Zabini—" she started, haltingly, with a glance at Nott. "He's not gay."

Zabini arched a finely tuned eyebrow. "Oh? And how would you know?"

"Everyone's got secrets, Spungen," Nott interjected smoothly.

"No, no, I know…it's just…he's not gay. In fact—" she cut herself off with a sharp breath before plunging onward, "I don't want to insult anyone here, but he's homophobic."

There was a moment of silence before Draco said, "Why?" They all turned, almost startled, to look at him. Theodore immediately looked away, though it went unnoticed by the other two.

"Well…he's probably worried one of you is going to corner him and kiss him or something," Lucy explained. "Actually, that's exactly what he's afraid of."

Zabini looked put-out. Theodore turned with narrowed eyes toward Lucy. "How is it, exactly, that you've become such an expert on Zacharias Smith?"

Lucy looked flustered, "I—we—it's—we—" she paused, collecting herself. "We talk."

"Among other things," Theodore added. "Perhaps when you…talk…you meet around, oh, five fifteen, when no one's in the corridors except certain very _observant_ Slytherins. Mm? Maybe?"

Lucy didn't flush, the way Draco expected her to, even though he had no idea what they were talking about. "Precisely," she said, looking rather smug for someone who had just been seemingly caught.

Zabini glanced sharply at her. "So you've been…talking…to him, then."

She winked. "Among other things." She placed a thin, pale hand on Zabini's shoulder. "Really, please don't be angry. Admire him from afar, but don't let yourself be rejected by him. He's not worth you, anyhow."

"Oh, but he's worth you?" Theodore snapped, appearing angry.

"She's just being nice," Blaise said scathingly. "Back off. I'm over it." He looked surly, casting a dark glare in Smith's direction. Theodore folded his arms over his chest and leaned back as far as he could on the bench seat without toppling off, intoning an un-amused, "Mm hm," before returning to his food without a single glance at Draco, instead discreetly eyeing Lucy under his narrowed eyes. Draco felt a hot surge of jealously at the protectiveness and—possessiveness?—in Theodore's voice.

- - -

Among the other things that weren't going well for Draco, Quidditch was one of them. It had been a fairly terrible Quidditch day and the practise had gotten rather cocked up, seeing as how one of their Beaters took himself out with a poorly aimed swing to the Bludger. Needless to say, he missed by a mile and accidentally smashed his own leg with the bat. Granted, the boy was new to the team, but it still seemed to be a sign things were not in their favour.

Draco landed his broom, mopping his sweaty hair off his forehead with the back of his hand, trudging toward the Slytherin changing rooms, peeling the leather finger gloves from his hands as he walked. The other players had headed off before him, eager to get changed and make it on time for dinner in the Great Hall.

The sun was setting with a hazy sort of laze on the horizon, backlighting the Hogwarts castle with a rich glow and Draco sighed heavily. A drop of sweat trickled down his temple and he flapped his Quidditch tunic, hoping to create some sort of breeze in the stifling evening air.

Once inside the changing rooms, he was pleased to see everyone else had finished up and he would have the showers all to himself—he didn't bloody care if he made it to dinner on time or not; he wanted some peace and quiet, away from the troubling tones of Theodore Nott and away from the frustrating Quidditch game.

He let the cool water flood across his face and down his shoulders, refreshing against his neck and chest, running in long rivulets down his legs, soothing his knotted muscles and washing the dirt and sweat from him.

He figured he just might skip dinner entirely in order to stay in the shower a bit longer, but his stomach growled and he decided he wasn't ready to go an entire night with nothing but Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. He switched off the water, shook his head, sending water droplets flying in every direction and wrapped a towel about his waist.

"Malfoy!" someone bellowed and Draco jumped, turning.

"Nott," he growled, pushing his sopping hair off his forehead. "What do you want?"

"We need to talk," Theodore said and started toward Draco, who gripped the towel firmly.

"Yeah, well, you stay over there and talk at me. I'm just about naked right now and don't want you much closer," Draco said, motioning Theodore away with one hand. Theodore stopped in his tracks and took in Draco's appearance.

He paused, raising an eyebrow and spending rather a long time taking Draco in. "You think I hadn't noticed?" One corner of his mouth pulled up in a mischievous smirk and Draco edged past him to reach his clothes piled on the floor.

"So?" Draco said, suddenly impatient with Theodore. "What do you want?" He wriggled into his pants while trying to keep the towel and his dignity firmly in place.

"Well, I'm really only here to address what I _need_ not what I _want_," another long glance at Draco's body, "but I came to tell you dinner is over, so I had Zabini take some back to the common room for you, but that you'd better hurry if you actually want any. They promised to eat it if you don't."

Draco silently cursed Nott for the gesture, because it was a rather nice one and Draco had resolved—seeing as how Nott seemed so huffy over that Spungen girl—never to be anything more than civil to the boy.

"Thank you," he mumbled, grabbing his shirt and whipping it over his head, twisting about to get it on as quickly as possible. When his head emerged from the neck of the shirt he saw Theodore was silently laughing at him. Nott shook his head.

"Better hurry," he repeated, and led the way from the changing rooms.

- - -

"So, Lucy and Smith, then, eh?" Zabini asked absentmindedly, flipping through his Chocolate Frog cards.

"S'pose so, yeah," Theodore responded, just as absentmindedly as he turned the page of his book. He looked up, suddenly on task. "You know, I was thinking," he said and his dark eyes flashed toward Draco. "That they really make quite the couple. But that Potter boy and his little red haired chit…" he slowly turned his gaze to Draco once more. "What do you think of them, Malfoy?" There was a sort of glitter in his eyes as he awaited the answer, his feet propped up on the table, his chair tipped back on two legs, his book open in his lap, his hands laced behind his head. "Think they've set themselves up to have cute little wizard babies?"

"I'm sure they'll look fine. Lots of little babies with freckles and glasses, hexing people left and right with bat bogeys and killing all sorts of dark lords," Draco answered coolly. "But then, I don't really invest that much of my time thinking about the two of them."

"Hm. Interesting."

"What?" Zabini looked up with a frown.

"Nothing. Just interesting that our little Malfoy seems to have 'moved on' for the sake of being cool."

"No, I've just moved on because I'm terribly invested in you, Theodore," Draco said coolly, standing up. Theodore's chair tipped backward in his surprise and he grappled first for the table—which he missed—and then for Draco to catch himself. His hands closed around Draco's shirt, pulling him down as well, since the momentum and gravity on the chair was just too much to reasonably stop.

Theodore noted briefly that Draco smelled like soap and lemon, and also noted briefly that they were ridiculously close to one another.

"Oh, get over yourself, Nott." Draco narrowed his eyes. "Didn't catch the sarcasm? You can't get a girl like Spungen to like you, don't fancy yourself able to get the male population of Hogwarts to, either." Draco picked himself up rather gracefully, dusted the front of his shirt off, and eyed the sprawled Theodore with distaste.

"You kissed me," Theodore blurted and Draco stopped mid-turn and swung back around, his face blanched. Zabini perked up slightly with interest, and every head in the common room looked at them.

"It must have just been another one of those dreams you tend to have about me," Draco said on a low tone, his eyes glittering with malice. "Because I wouldn't kiss the likes of you."

Theodore flushed a brilliant red and clambered to his feet, roughly jerking the chair upright and shoving it to the table, his mouth a thin line, his jaw working. "Very clever, Malfoy. Give yourself a star and have a celebratory wank with yourself for being so brilliant." Theodore spun as if to go and then whirled back around, very close to Draco. He jabbed his finger into the other boy's chest. "But don't ever—_ever—_expect me to stand up for you again. You won't see me throw my weight around to benefit the _likes of you_."

Most of the students had averted their eyes and pretended nothing out of the ordinary had just happened, but one small third year whispered something to his friend and they burst into a fit of sniggering that left both Draco and Theodore with their fists clenched, nails biting into their palms. One of the boys eyed Theodore and then said something to his friend that sounded distinctly like, "pathetic fag."

Draco bellowed, "_Shut up, you!_" and glared at them. "Just shut your stupid traps." There was an awkward silence in the common room until Zabini broke it with his quiet exclamation of, "Oh, finally I've got Salazaar!" and holding up his new found Chocolate Frog collector's card.

- - -

**Author's Note: **Thanks for reading and (maybe?) forgiving me for that extra long absence.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:**This fic is mine, but the Harry Potter universe belongs to J.K. Rowling and some other people. I am not one of them.

**Author's Note: **I know it's bad form to leave a fic un-updated for so long, so you have my deepest apologies, of course. I hope you all enjoy the update. I make no promises (because I can rarely keep them) but I _will_ try to update at some point before, you know, five years go by or something.

**Previously…**

"You kissed me," Theodore blurted and Draco stopped mid-turn and swung back around, his face blanched. Zabini perked up slightly with interest, and every head in the common room looked at them.

"It must have just been another one of those dreams you tend to have about me," Draco said on a low tone, his eyes glittering with malice. "Because I wouldn't kiss the likes of you."

Theodore flushed a brilliant red and clambered to his feet, roughly jerking the chair upright and shoving it to the table, his mouth a thin line, his jaw working. "Very clever, Malfoy. Give yourself a star and have a celebratory wank with yourself for being so brilliant." Theodore spun as if to go and then whirled back around, very close to Draco. He jabbed his finger into the other boy's chest. "But don't ever—_ever—_expect me to stand up for you again. You won't see me throw my weight around to benefit the _likes of you_."

Most of the students had averted their eyes and pretended nothing out of the ordinary had just happened, but one small third year whispered something to his friend and they burst into a fit of sniggering that left both Draco and Theodore with their fists clenched, nails biting into their palms. One of the boys eyed Theodore and then said something to his friend that sounded distinctly like, "pathetic fag."

Draco bellowed, "_Shut up, you!_" and glared at them. "Just shut your stupid traps." There was an awkward silence in the common room until Zabini broke it with his quiet exclamation of, "Oh, finally I've got Salazaar!" and holding up his new found Chocolate Frog collector's card.

- - -

**Chapter Ten: In Which Mr. Malfoy Seeks**

- - -

After that, Theodore was gone. It wasn't just that he had made himself scarce—it was that he was actually _gone._ Draco didn't find out until two days after the fact, when he asked Zabini "where the hell the little wanker's been hiding" that he found out he'd left sometime in the earliest hours of the morning. No one was clear if he'd left Hogwarts on his own whim, or if he'd gone home to his father. Either way, the news caused a boiling sort of anger to bubble up inside of Draco.

"He could've bloody said something," he snapped at Blaise before whirling, seething down the hallway. "And bugger this weather, too," he muttered to himself as he passed a window and saw the grounds layered in thick white ice and snow, the sky a burly horizon made of dark, muscled clouds . And then, "Stupid Christmas," though it was still a good two weeks away.

This sort of attitude chronicled the next few days until he saw Lucy Spungen, who was looking lovely yet miserable and waved her over in the hallway.

"You know what's been going on with Nott?" Draco asked her, something in his chest clenching when she shook her head no, not looking at him. "Well, how's Smith, then?"

"Nothing." There was a pause. "I mean I don't know."

"Haven't talked to him lately?" Draco's tone was bitter, accusing. He wasn't thinking about Smith. Lucy jerked her chin up suddenly, angry.

"He was fun for awhile. But I have my loyalties."

Draco was caught by the furious blaze in her dark eyes, the scent of her perfume, the nearness of her upturned face. "Oh?" he managed. "And where do those loyalties lie?"

"You ask too many questions, Malfoy," she said, taking a step back, adjusting the shoulder strap of her bookbag. It looked heavy.

"And you don't answer enough of them, Spungen."

She inclined her head once and left.

- - -

There wasn't really anything to do but sulk around in the dungeons, trying to ignore the icy water dripping in from the lake. One such night that Draco was sitting cramped in the corner, attempting to avoid all the people who annoyed him, his owl came speeding toward him, dropping a rolled and sealed parchment on his lap. His name was written in his father's refined, scrolling hand. "Thanks," he murmured to the bird, running the back of his finger down the sleek chest feathers before opening the letter, reading the words that made his palms turn cold and his face clammy.

Theodore had said there were wizards far darker than You-Know-Who, but Draco felt Voldemort was still pretty dark, and the prospect of joining him even darker. He quickly crumpled the parchment and threw it in the fireplace, watching until it had burnt to nothing but crumbling ashes. He wished his family didn't have such close ties to the Dark Lord and wondered if Theodore had gotten a similar letter. If that's why he was gone.

He felt as though he was being watched. He twisted slightly, and caught Lucy's eye. She rose slowly and moved to sit beside him, tucking her knees to her chin.

"You know," she started, "you might try talking to Zacharias."

"About what?" Draco grumbled uncooperatively, looking away from her. She narrowed her eyes at him and left. As if he would follow _her_ advice.

- - -

"Hey," Draco barked. "I mean, hi." He smoothed the front of his shirt, trying to remember he wasn't nervous or humiliated. "Hello, I mean." Draco shifted uncomfortably. Zacharias Smith looked up at him from his notebook, his quill slowing to a stop. He seemed wary.

"Hi," he said finally after a long pause.

"Is there something you'd like to tell me?" Draco asked, because he really wasn't sure _why_ he was supposed to talk to Zacharias.

"No…why?"

"Well, do you know anything about Theodore?" As the words left his mouth, Draco realized it had been the wrong thing to say. Or maybe the right thing, since it had clearly struck somewhere in the general vicinity of "home." Maybe the backyard area. Zacharias' face shuttered closed and he looked away.

"Why should I?"

"Because I said so," Draco said petulantly. He felt mildly stupid—there had been a muscle twitch in his foot, as though he had thought about stomping it.

"Talk to Potter, then." Zacharias turned back to his work, clearly implying they were done.

"That's it?" Draco demanded. "'Talk to Potter'?" Zacharias ignored him and Draco gave him a rather rude hand gesture (concealed behind the folds of his robe) but Zacharias saw anyway and flashed him an angry look before gathering his things and stalking off, leaving Draco to search down Potter.

- - -

Harry's mouth was a thin, tight line as he glared at Draco. "Look, it just_happened,_" Harry said, his fists clenching on the table. Draco sighed and put a hand on his hip, quickly removing it when he remembered he looked like a huffy housewife whenever he did that. Not to mention that when he found Potter he blurted "You cheating bugger!" instead of, "Heard anything about Nott lately?"

"I only say that because, you know, one day you were like 'I'll think about it,' and the very next you're removing Ginny's tonsils with your tongue."

Harry's shoulders hitched up and dropped in a shrug. "It just happened." He stacked his books, ramming loose papers wherever they would fit. "This can't be why you've hounded me down, Draco." He lowered his voice to a hiss. "_You _know I'm not a—a_fag._"

Draco sucked in a sharp breath of air, straightened, and said, "Where is Theodore?" through gritted teeth.

Harry took a step back as if the subject change were a slap to the face. He heaved his books off the table and narrowed his eyes at Draco, considering. "You haven't heard? I thought…"

"Thought what?" Draco was brisk now, business now, not a boy afflicted by a schoolgirl crush.

"I thought you were in on it." Harry shrugged again and looked away briefly on a sigh. He set books down on the table again. "Listen, you don't deserve to hear this, and you _certainly_ didn't hear it from me, but…Theodore went home."

Draco waited for more. When it didn't come, he said, "Is that all?" and Harry nodded. Draco sighed. "Well, _yeah_, I know he went _home_, but _why?_"

"Oh," Harry said. "No one knows _that._" He left, but called over his shoulder, "Maybe that Spungen girl's got a clue."

- - -

"Wild fucking goose chase, thanks, Spungen." Draco folded his arms over his chest and sat heavily in the chair across from her.

"Oh, that. I know. Sorry." She waved a hand dismissively. "I just needed time to get in contact with my people. That way, I would actually have a good answer when you came asking around." Draco scowled and she shrugged prettily. "Theodore went home. His father called him back—I believe he received a similar letter as you." She let out a long, drawn-out sigh. "I think it's so cheap of them to try and recruit their spawn, don't you?" She scoffed. "Merlin knows that's how revolutions are born."

Draco cocked his head. "What, exactly, do you mean?"

"They've got us under their thumbs. Think they do, anyway. That will never last long. Patronizing us. Controlling us. Breeding us. A revolution is coming. And Theodore Nott is leading it."

- - -

Thanks. Reviews are always appreciated.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, this fic belongs to me.

**Previously…**

"Theodore went home. His father called him back—I believe he received a similar letter as you." She let out a long, drawn-out sigh. "I think it's so cheap of them to try and recruit their spawn, don't you?" She scoffed. "Merlin knows that's how revolutions are born."

Draco cocked his head. "What, exactly, do you mean?"

"They've got us under their thumbs. Think they do, anyway. That will never last long. Patronizing us. Controlling us. Breeding us. A revolution is coming. And Theodore Nott is leading it."

- - -

**Chapter Eleven: In Which We Hear From Theodore**

- - -

Theodore sat at the table, his fists clenched in his lap. He bit down hard to keep from lunging, to keep from gripping the table and shoving it with all his might. "I know where my loyalties lie." He raised his head slightly, looking his father in the eye.

"They lie with me, of course. And with the Dark Lord," his father said, pacing by the window.

"Of course." Theodore's gaze never flickered.

"I know you, boy. You will make a dutiful servant to the Dark Lord. You will bring honor to us." His father turned his back to look out the window, pacing in front of the leaded glass, gazing out at the darkening sky.

"Will I?" Theodore rose slowly, his face neutral, calm. His father spun, narrowing his eyes.

"Of course." He turned again with a sneer.

"Are you really so sure?" Theodore drew his wand, leveled it with his father's back. Flicked his wrist. "Are you really so foolish?"

The older man had his wand out, sparks hissing from the end before Theodore was even really aware he had turned around. As a shot of light sped toward him, he ducked beneath the table, gripping a chair leg and shoving it out of his way.

He heard the sickening shift and chink of the door locks falling into place. Shut in.

"Nowhere to go," his father clucked, casually flicking his hand and moving the table to the left, revealing his son. "Nowhere to go."

Theodore clambered to his feet. "I don't need to go anywhere. I can—"

Another flash of light. Theodore ducked again, but it grazed his shoulder. It was painful, and it burned. Not enough to stop him, though. He whipped his wand, hastily muttering a spell his father easily blocked.

"You're all talk, boy," his father growled. Another flash of light, painfully bright, blindingly so. It threw Theodore backward into the wall, hard, and he crumpled, his head sagging. His vision swam in darkness and he struggled to find his breath. His wand wasn't in his hand anymore. He saw his father's shoes move toward him; saw his own reflection in their shine. He looked tired and old and beaten.

The slap was harsh and sudden, a ring cutting across his cheek. Backhand. "Stupid, worthless, boy." The words were said on a low, disappointed growl. Theodore bit down hard on his cheek, so hard he thought he tasted blood. His face burned like a hot coil of iron and he watched his father leave, shut the door, lock it.

There was dead silence in the room for a moment and then he was gasping in pain, feeling the rush of shame and humiliation and defeat burn his cheeks. His head was pounding and his chest felt as though it were collapsing inward on itself. One gasp, another, another, sobbing. He was rocking, his fingers digging sharply into his knees, his back pressing against the wall, his eyes shut tight against acid tears. He sucked a harsh breath in through his teeth. It hurt to breathe past the tightness in his throat. He knew what this feeling was.

Failure. And it hadn't even begun.

- - -

When Draco next saw Theodore, he was haggard and drawn, a purple cut marring his high cheekbone. It had been nearly a week that Theodore was gone.

"Nott," Draco called, jogging to catch up with him in the hallway. Theodore continued onward, ignoring him. "_Nott!"_ He followed him outside under the overcast sky. "_Hey,_" he yelled.

Theodore spun, practically spitting like an angry cat. "You stupid little rat—"

"Ferret," Draco corrected, interrupting, coming to an abrupt stop in front of Theodore.

Theodore waved a hand, annoyed, his own sentence hardly breaking, "—you think I'll give you the time of day? You have to pluck up, _ferret_—" _Ah, _Draco thought, _so he did notice. _"—take a stand for yourself rather than letting me or your _poppy_ do it for you, you little plonker." Theodore took a step back, his chest heaving. His face was red. "Bugger off, then, eh?"

Draco held his hands up. "Look, I'm not asking—I'm not asking forgiveness—"

"Then what the bleeding fuck _are _you doing?" Theodore's hands went in the air as he turned, shaking his head.

"I just—I just want in," Draco called and Theodore slowed, the gravel beneath his feet shifting as he turned. Draco saw his jaw working, his index finger rubbing at the inside of his thumb. "I want in the revolution," he repeated.

"You ever read _The Naked and the Dead?_" Theodore asked finally.

"No." Draco blinked.

"Okay. Well, either way, you're a fugger."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Draco demanded.

"Exactly how it sounds," Theodore said. He pretended to buff his nails on the front of his shirt and then grinned wickedly at Draco. "So you want in, eh? You can be the naked."

"What does that make you?"

Theodore's mouth quirked at the side, but his eyes were void of humour. "Dead."

- - -

A shaky truce was established between the two and during the dinner hour, Draco effectively and succinctly rattled said truce by saying, "Where'd the cut on your face come from?"

Theodore froze mid-chew, his eyes sliding icily to zero in on Draco's face. He slowly lowered his fork, shoved the food to one side of his mouth and said coolly, "Tripped."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Liar. Why do you always lie?"

Theodore ignored him, chewing determinedly, focusing his gaze steadfastly elsewhere.

"I asked you a question," Draco said, his eyes glued to Theodore.

Lucy Spungen inched away uncomfortably, practically moving into Zabini's spot at the table, hindered only by the fact that he still maintained that spot.

Theodore swallowed and turned to glare. "How the hell d'you think I got it?"

"I don't know," Draco said sarcastically. "I'm guessing you have a history of abuse and your dad beats you ruthlessly. Later," he continued lavishly, sneering, "you lock yourself in your room and write emotional poetry in some fucking diary."

Theodore was so still it seemed as if he weren't breathing. Tense minutes passed and Draco began to doubt his stupid remarks. For about the fifth-hundred time, a line had been crossed.

Theodore said very quietly and very dangerously. "Journal. It's called a journal."

There was a soundless second before Blaise burst out laughing and spewed pumpkin juice across the table, but more specifically across Lucy.

"Good one, Nott," Zabini wheezed through tears. "_Journal._"

Lucy rose abruptly, glaring at Draco, her eyes then flickering toward Theodore briefly as she turned and left, briskly making her way to the large double-doors.

Zabini quickly sobered and the three boys watched her determined path cut down the room.

"I think there's something more going on with Lucy than she's letting on," Zabini said mildly, dabbing at his lap and the spilled pumpkin juice with his napkin.

Theodore's eyes were still on the retreating girl. "Yep." He turned his grey eyes on Zabini. "And you're the prime candidate to find out what."

- - -

**Author's Note: **Thanks for your patience, everyone. Let me know how you're feeling about the story.

**References: **_The Naked and the Dead _is a 1948 book by Norman Mailer. Apparently, his publishers didn't like how often he used "fuck," hence the reason he used "fug."


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:**Harry Potter still belongs to J.K. Rowling.

**Author's Note: **I beg your forgiveness. I never meant for updates to be so sporadic. But we're getting to the good stuff, I promise. And Harry is still a factor, for those of you who were wondering. I hope you enjoy the updates. As always, I love feedback. Thanks to those of you who take the time. Also, just a heads-up for this chapter: it switches between two different plot lines, differentiated by the "-0-" markings.

- - -

**Chapter Twelve: In Which Zabini Gets Screen-Time**

- - -

Zabini jerked on his school robes, straightening them on his shoulders. He cleared his throat and strode across the empty common room toward Lucy Spungen.

"Lucy," he began and his voice broke. He cleared it again. "I mean, Lucy." She looked up. "Theodore and Draco and I have decided there's something going on with you."

She watched him silently and raised an eyebrow. "Okay."

"We would—all three of us—appreciate it if you explained it." He adjusted the tie around his neck. It suddenly felt much too tight.

"Ask very nicely. Later." She turned her focus back to the roll of parchment in front of her.

"How?"

She looked up, considering. "Seduce me," she decided, scooping up her books and paper. "If you'll excuse me, I can't seem to focus here. You can find me in the library. Later." With that, she strode from the room, her skirt swinging.

Zabini didn't like the creeping feeling that he was somehow looking forward to later.

-0-

"We are going to settle this," Theodore said. "The loser stops saying stupid things."

"You think I'm going to lose?" Draco asked. Secretly, he thought he was going to lose, too.

"Namely, you stop making stupid and inaccurate analyses of my past. Also, if Filch comes in, this is your fault. He always checks the trophy room sometime before he goes to bed." Draco nodded perfunctorily in response. "On your mark," Theodore said.

"Get set," Draco added.

"Go," they said together and Draco shot off a stunning spell while Theodore threw up a shield charm. Their eyes were locked and they circled slowly, each in a half-crouch. Theodore muttered a disarming spell but Draco tossed another stunning spell and Theodore got the wrist movement wrong. They did this circling dance for the next ten minutes, each throwing unsuccessful spells at the other until Draco wiped a hand across the back of his forehead.

"One sec," he said. He slid his school robes off his shoulders and slung it to the side. He loosened his tie and sent it the way of his robes, rolling up the sleeves of his white button-down shirt. "All right," he said, readying his wand. His palms were sweaty—his entire body was sweaty—and he tried to ignore how uncomfortable he was as well as the menacing glare Theodore was sending his way. "On your mark," he said.

"Get set," Theodore added.

"Go," they both said once more.

Theodore was suddenly rushing Draco, who threw his arms over his face with a yelp. Theodore slammed into him, knocking him back against the wall. They tussled for a little bit, mainly because Draco was under the impression Theodore was attacking him.

"_Stop_," Theodore demanded, grabbing hold of Draco's arms and holding them tightly. "Stop elbowing me in the face."

"Uh." Draco stopped struggling momentarily, his arms akimbo and his legs intertwined with Theodore's. In this brief pause, their eyes locked and Theodore leaned in and pressed his lips hard against Draco's.

Draco found himself responding whole-heartedly, now that he was fairly certain his life was no longer in danger. He rocked embarrassingly against Theodore, who didn't seem to mind all that much, but rather deepened the kiss, biting at Draco's lip.

Behind them, a trophy clattered to the ground and they jerked apart, each of them trying to scramble farther away. With wild eyes, they frantically scanned the room.

A cackle from Peeves, who was floating in the corner, startled them both. "Have the ickle boys been doing naughty things?"

Draco guiltily met Theodore's eyes. Peeves cackled again, knowingly, and flung another trophy on the ground where it clattered. Theodore grabbed up his wand and headed for the door.

"Come on," he ordered. "Before Filch gets here to smoke out Peeves."

Draco scrambled to gather up his robe and tie, running to catch up. "Wait," he called and Theodore slowed slightly in the hallway. "What was that about?"

Theodore was breathing heavily and looking everywhere and anywhere but at Draco. "I don't know," he said. "But it had something to do with you peeling off your robes and rolling up your sleeves."

-0-

The lights in the library had been dimmed, and it had largely been deserted even by the most dedicated students. Zabini checked each table in the front, saw they were empty, and began wandering the towering aisles of books, occasionally running his finger down the cracked spines. He turned into the last aisle, certain that Spungen had lied and was hiding elsewhere in the castle, but when he looked up he was met with the sight of her leaning against the bookshelf, her hip thrust out and her finger marking her spot on the page.

"Hi," Blaise said. She eyed him.

"Hi."

He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on forth on his heels. Lucy snorted quietly and returned her attention to her book.

"Uh," Blaise said after a moment and took a step closer. "What are you reading?"

Lucy snapped the book shut and narrowed her eyes. "Don't be awkward about it."

"It's just," he began, edging in closer to her, his eyes never leaving her face, "you're so beautiful."

Lucy tossed her head and laughed. "Right. I know a line when I see one."

"So?" he said, moving closer yet, only inches away. She hadn't seemed to notice.

"It's not attractive," she said. He plucked the book from her hands and let it drop to the floor with a dull thud. He put one hand on either side of her, leaning into the bookcase.

"You don't feel seduced?" he whispered, his dark eyes running along her face, but particularly her mouth. She bit her lip and looked down. "Is it working?" he asked, his voice still low.

"Your seduction skills could use some work," she admitted, moving to duck out from under his arm but he moved with her.

"Then show me," he whispered huskily and her breath hitched in her throat, a pale blush appearing on her cheeks. Her eyes met his reluctantly. "Should I do this?" he asked, reaching a hand to gently brush the hair back from her face. "Or," he said slowly, "this?" and let his fingertip trace her jaw line. "Or maybe I should do this," he murmured and leaned in, his dark face close to hers, his mouth millimeters from her own. She put a hand on his chest and he stopped, his black eyes locking on hers.

"Okay," she said suddenly, loudly. "You win." She ducked out from under his arm and this time he didn't follow her but rather stayed, his hands against the bookcase, his head bowed forward as he bit his lip. That had been far too exciting. "What do you want to know?" she asked, grabbing up the book from the floor and searching for its proper spot on the bookshelf, as though trying to find something with which to busy herself.

Blaise pinched the bridge of his nose briefly and then straightened, turning to look at her. "Theodore thinks something's up with you."

She shoved the book roughly onto the shelf and turned to glare. "As if Theodore's one to talk." She shook her head. "Do _you_ know where that cut on his face came from?"

Blaise shook his head silently.

"It_was_ his father." Her voice seemed to raise an octave. "I overheard my parents talking. His father hit him." She began to pace, her dark eyes wild. "It's not often," she added. "He doesn't beat him. But, from what I understand, their relationship has always been a tenuous one…it's just…it just makes me think that a revolution really is necessary. We can't let ourselves be treated this way." She had begun breathing heavily.

"All right," he said. "But what were you _really_ sneaking off to do when you said you were visiting Zacharias?"

Lucy covered her face in her hands and groaned. "I used him," she admitted. "I just wanted information…"

Blaise made a face. "Did you…you know? How was he? Was he any good?"

"A good _laugh_," Lucy snorted. "And no, we never did that." She smacked his arm. "I wouldn't do _that._" She put a hand on her forehead. "But the only way I see this working is…well, let's just say Theodore would probably never agree to the idea."

"What's the idea?" Blaise folded his arms over his chest.

Lucy sank to the floor and let her head fall back against the wall. "Zacharias never said anything _specifically_, but he definitely hinted that there is another group at the school beginning some sort of uprising." She looked up at Blaise. "The only way I see this working is if we join that group. Join forces with Harry Potter."

-0-

Theodore grabbed Draco's arm and pulled him into one of the many nooks and crannies that compiled the entirety of Hogwarts. "Listen," he hissed. "This doesn't get out, all right? We don't talk about this to _anyone._ Understand?"

Draco nodded silently, narrowing his eyes. He jerked his arm away. "I still deserve an explanation as to what the hell happened back there," he hissed.

Theodore rolled his eyes. "Listen. I've told you before; don't make me repeat myself."

"What do you mean?"

"What did I fucking say the _last_ time I kissed you?"

Draco frowned, remembering. _I think I really like you._

Theodore spun and started off down the hallway, turning to point at Draco and say, "Hey—don't expect this carry on, either way."

Left in the dim hallway on his own, Draco began the slow journey to the Slytherin common rooms, his mouth and his mind still reeling. Stupid Theodore. Stupid Christmas, even though it was still a week away. As he passed beneath the doorway and into the Slytherin dungeon, his eyes drifted to the top of the doorframe. In a week, mistletoe would be hanging from that spot. Stupid, stupid, Christmas. Theodore had made it pretty clear he wouldn't be getting anything, mistletoe or not.

-0-

"Harry Potter's got a group?" Blaise asked, settling himself on the floor across from Lucy. She nodded. "And you think that will make our numbers big enough to do something?"

"I'm hoping." Her eyes looked strained and she looked away, her hand brushing quickly across her cheek.

"Are you crying?" Blaise asked, leaning forward to get a better look. She flinched away and shook her head vigorously, not making eye contact with him.

"No. I'm not crying." She took a sharp breath in. "It's just, my mother isn't pureblood…she's a Muggle. They're trying to sway my father—frighten him into joining them so he can protect her."

"And you," Blaise said.

"What?" Her voice was flat.

"They're trying to frighten him into joining so he can protect you. You're not pureblood."

Lucy clambered to her feet, the first time Blaise had seen her less than graceful. "Shut your mouth. I can take care of myself. My father won't join because of _me_. I won't let him."

Blaise rose to his feet as well, holding his hands up placatingly. "I never said that."

"I think you did." She narrowed her eyes at him, her full mouth pressing together. She glared at him a moment longer and pushed past him, but he grabbed her forearm.

"Aren't you scared?" He was very close to her, the front of his shirt brushing her arm. She thought she could hear his heart pounding, and felt the warmth radiating from him.

She lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. "Do you think I should be?"

He released her arm. "I think you should be careful."

"Keep an ear out for me, won't you? I know there's talk about my family." She took a step back and ducked her head, thick curls falling across her face.

"I have been. There is talk."

Lucy took a deep breath. "I hate this. My family is good. _I'm_good. We shouldn't be hunted." Her voice was surprisingly shaky. "Thank you," she muttered, gently smoothing the front of his shirt with her hand, her fingers splaying across his chest briefly before she folded her fingers inward and crossed her arms over her chest. "You should go," she said, looking pointedly toward the door. "You got the information you wanted." He hesitated, nodded, and left her in silence.

As soon as he was gone, she dropped her book bag and covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking violently, her sobs wrecking the empty silence of the library.

- - -


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: J

**Disclaimer: **J.K. Rowling still owns the Harry Potter universe, not me.

**Author's Note: **This was a long wait, I know, but sometime this year I got a life (it kind of ambushed me) as well as the fact that I just haven't written _anything_ in ages. So, forgive me if you can and read if you're still interested.

- - -

**Chapter Thirteen: In Which Some Unlucky Stuff Goes Down**

- - -

Blaise sat in the darkened common room with Theodore, his long legs drawn up, his chin resting on his knees. Theodore had taken the news surprisingly well, when he heard Harry Potter was their best chance at success.

"It's been historically demonstrated that people will unite against a common enemy, even if they disagree with one another," Theodore said reasonably.

"At what point do we disagree with Potter? Don't we both want the Death Eaters gone?"

"Yes, but for different reasons…Gryffindors have an entirely different moral code, and I don't want to have a discussion on ethics with you; I want to know when we can meet up with Potter and his group."

"I'll talk to Potter," Blaise said. "Or maybe Draco can."

Theodore nodded stiffly and rose. "See you, then," he said and made his way to the dorms.

Neither of them noticed the girl sitting on the stairs, hidden by the shadows of the dungeon. She rose silently, her shoes clutched in her hand as she disappeared.

- - -

"Listen, Zabini…" Harry was looking up at the tall black boy from his seat in the library. "I've no idea what you're talking about." He shrugged uselessly.

"Potter," Blaise said, glancing at Draco for help. Draco shifted uneasily and looked away as though very interested in scanning the ceiling for cracks. Blaise glared at the side of his head briefly and then looked back at Harry. "It's pointless to deny it, so don't. We want to, uh—" he slid into the seat beside Harry's and lowered his voice, "—you know, help you. Help each other."

Harry eyed Blaise and then flicked his gaze toward Draco, who was studiously examining the peeling spine of an old book. "Is _he_ going to be there?"

Blaise turned to look. "What, oh, Draco?" He shook his head at Harry with bemused look. "No, no, he's just decoration."

"Oh. Okay, then," Harry agreed and leaned forward, already talking excitedly.

- - -

"Just _decoration?_" Draco squawked at Blaise as they left the library together.

"Shut up, won't you?" Blaise glanced over his shoulder and then scanned the hall ahead, as though he were looking for someone.

"But that's just mean!" Draco continued.

Blaise rolled his eyes and then shoved Draco's arm so he stumbled sideways a few steps. "See?" he said. "You're just not stable enough to be more than decoration. Plus, he doesn't want you there." He craned his neck around again and Draco stopped walking.

"What, is there someone you're waiting for?"

"What? No," Blaise said defensively, staring straight ahead until a few minutes later he said, "Say, you haven't seen Lucy lately, have you?" and Draco burst out laughing.

- - -

"This is awkward," Blaise whispered, leaning in toward Theodore. "I mean, look at them."

Theodore sighed heavily and cast an irritated glance at Draco and then at Harry. They were across the room, each trying to ignore the other more. "It's ridiculous," he agreed.

It was the first official gathering of both groups. The D.A. and Theodore's group (which hadn't been given a proper name beyond "Theodore's Group" or "That Revolution Theodore Started", though they were working on it) had decided to meet in the Room of Requirement (the standard meeting place of anything Top Secret and Important). The students were bunched awkwardly around the room, not quite ready to mingle with the gangly and distant Slytherins.

"It's not because _we're_ standoffish," Blaise insisted, "It's because _they're_ prejudiced twats."

"Err," Theodore said but left it at that.

Eventually Harry cleared his throat and shifted his feet and everyone looked his way, including Draco (who up until now had found yet another interesting aspect of the wall to study and journal about) and Harry waved his hand about kind of uselessly and then he glanced at Hermione who said something about Patronuses and Harry took the lifeline and said, "Yes! Today we'll be working on our Patronuses some more." Everyone took out their wands and started a discordant, cacophonous bellowing as silver puffs wisped from the ends of their wands. Theodore and Blaise exchanged a glance and Theodore, almost chagrined, removed his wand from his pocket and gave it an experimental little wave. He muttered the incantation and glanced at Blaise out of the corner of his eye. He did the wand movement a few more times, muttered "_Expecto Patronum"_ and then lowered his arm and raised his head. "Shouldn't we be doing something more like strategizing?" he asked, loud enough for the room to hear. He looked at Harry. "I mean, planning is kind of a key step."

"What?" Harry asked dumbly.

"It's a Slytherin trait," Theodore said. "You know, cunning. Smart. Witty." He ran a hand along his jaw. "Charming. Prepared, in some way." Harry's brows lowered in a frown and Theodore stepped forward. "You know, everyone I look at is producing a Patronus just fine, but when it comes down to it, we'll have a bunch of silvery animals swooping around, but no real cohesion."

"I disagree," Harry said but offered nothing else and Theodore ran the tip of his tongue along the edge of his teeth and glanced at Blaise again.

"Err, right. So the plan then, as I understand it, is to shoot out a cocker spaniel from our wands and then just have at it?"

"We won't just be having at it, we'll be defending ourselves," Harry responded and got encouraging nods from Hermione and Ron.

"Right," Draco said, stepping in. "Potter, you ever heard the saying the best defense is a good offense? We've got no offense."

"We," Ron declared, his chin jutting out, "are Pacifists."

There was silence and then Hermione leaned forward and whispered, "No we're not" and Ron cleared his throat and said, "We," his chin lifted again, "are pragmatists. Whatever works to keep us safe."

"Keeping us safe isn't the same thing as solving the problem," Draco said, his stare falling on Harry. "And you want to solve the problem, don't you?"

It was Harry's turn to say, "Err."

- - -

**Author's Note: **I'll update soon, hopefully. /


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: **The Harry Potter universe still belongs to J.K. Rowling.

**Author's Note: **Back again! Turns out I just can't quit on these boys. Thanks for the reviews. I'm pretty much in love with all of you.

- - -

**Chapter Fourteen: In Which There is Tumult **

- - -

Harry, having decided it was indeed better to solve the problem, as opposed to delaying the problem, agreed to sit down with Theodore, Blaise, and Draco to schedule the next meeting and plan the things they would cover. Hedge and Weasel insisted on being present, one bringing a large, teetering stack of books and the other bringing a large, teetering stack of chocolate frogs.

"Food for thought," they said simultaneously, each explaining their stacks. They looked at one another and then Hedge giggled, which was unusual, and Weasel flushed a brilliant red, which was not.

Draco leaned toward Blaise and whispered, "I bet those two end up together."

Blaise nodded. "It's what people've been saying all along."

"All right," Theodore spoke. "I'm not here for gossip. Haven't got all day."

"The next gathering of the D.A. and, uh…your people…will be held in Hogsmeade in two day's time. This way we can grab a mug of Butter Beer before making plans for fighting the Dark Lord and his minions," Harry said.

"And then what?" Ron wanted to know. "What happens when they actually come around?"

"Then we'll be waiting for them," Theodore said darkly before turning away from the table and sharing an eye-roll with Draco.

- - -

"We shouldn't even be playing this," Draco said. "We're in the middle of a revolution."

"There's always time for a game of chess. We've got two days, anyway." Theodore slowly raised an eyebrow and then nodded at the tiled board. "Checkmate." A slight pause. "See?" The corner of his mouth curled up.

"You don't play fair," Draco whined after a moment of surveying the board.

"You going to run to Dumbledore?" Theodore scoffed. "_Real _wizards handle it differently…."

"Shut up, we're not going to duel," Draco snapped.

"Dueling implies fair fighting. And I said nothing about that." Theodore stood up and leaned across the table. Chills ran down Draco's spine. Theodore's eyes were locked on his. "Because _real _wizards—" he paused when Draco's breath hitched in his throat and a slow, wicked grin pulled at Theodore's mouth, "—play dirty."

Draco was out of his seat in an instant and across the room. "This is stupid," he said, jerking at the door handle, though it wouldn't budge.

"What's stupid?" Theodore asked calmly, hoisting himself onto a desktop and swinging his legs while he watched Draco's struggle.

"Everything. You. This!" Draco pulled harder on the door. "Whatever _this_ is…if it's a…if it can be _called_ a relationship…the dynamic…it's just so—"

"Tumultuous?" Theodore supplied.

"No, shut up, it's not _tumultuous_." Draco gripped the door handle with both hands and leaned back, pulling as hard as he could. "It's just _agitating._ You're so inconsistent. It messes with my head and my feelings. I just feel like everything's in an upheaval," Draco panted.

Theodore slid off the desk easily and strode across the room to Draco. He shoved a short, stout book into his chest. "I suggest you look up 'tumultuous.' I think you'll find it to be quite the epiphanic moment," he said. "Oh, and—" Theodore took the door handle, "—the door opens out." He disappeared down the hallway, leaving Draco to fumble with the book and his pride.

He flipped open the tome (_Egbert Huffle's Guide to the English Language: The Everyman's Resource) _and found "tumultuous: agitation of the mind or feelings; marked by upheaval." There was a little footnote which read, "See also: the 1822 Quidditch finals. Barney Deddle and Wendy Puddle (Deddle playing Beater for the Horntail Challengers and Puddle playing Chaser for the Merriam Humpbacks) were involved in a torrid affair with one another. During the 1822 Quidditch finals, the game was reduced to a shouting match between Deddle and Puddle. Deddle, whose Beater's bat was turned against him during the argument, ended in the hospital, where Puddle later visited him. A few days later, this resulted in a proposal from Deddle. Needless to say, everyone agreed they shared a very _tumultuous_ but successful relationship."

"Oh hardy har har," Draco muttered as he snapped the book shut and stalked down the hall himself.

- - -

Meanwhile, Blaise had sought out Lucy to update her on the new arrangements. He found her in the Slytherin common room, hands fisted on her hips as she glared after Pansy Parkinson, who was flouncing out the door, her high-heeled shoes in hand. Pansy tossed a look back over her shoulder.

"You're just a half-blood _tart_, Spungen. They won't bother to keep you around!"

Blaise watched as Lucy's mouth formed a surprised and angry "Oh." The door slammed and he knew Pansy was gone. "Err, what was that about?"

"She just had to get the last word, didn't she. She thinks _I'm _a tart?" Lucy raged, her hair seeming to rise in an angry halo around her face. "Everyone knows _she's_ the Slytherin hussy!"

"She is?"

Lucy waved a hand dismissively. "It's obligatory; every house has to have one. What? Did you _never _read _The Teenage Girl's Guide to Social Rules and Practices_? It's by Magda Hearst. It teaches _anyone_ how to be a good hussy."

"Are you taking the piss?" Blaise asked after a moment of scrutinizing her, slightly shell-shocked, though trying not to show it.

"_Yes,_ I'm taking the piss. There aren't books teaching girls how to be hussies. Goodness." She blew a puff of air out, lifting her bangs off her forehead a moment. "Well, there _are_, but it's called _Cosmopolitan _and it's a Muggle thing." She seemed lost in thought, but then she waved her hand and said, "Parkinson just has her panties in a twist over Draco."

"She does?"

"You haven't heard? She's been saying all week she'll do anything to pay him back."

Blaise knew he should be forming some sort of response, but Lucy just looked so pretty after having been in a bit of a rage; her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were bright and keen. Her shirtsleeves were rolled to the elbow and Blaise noticed she had the prettiest forearms he'd ever seen in his life, probably, and the most delicate wrists. She tucked an errant curl behind her ear.

"Anyway," she continued. "That's enough of that, I suppose. I really try to limit myself to one outburst a month, particularly if it's between me and another girl, because you know how that looks."

Blaise shook his head dumbly. "I just know how you look."

"Pardon?"

"I—never mind," he said quickly. Lucy self-consciously smoothed the front of her skirt and they both looked away from one another. "I just, uh, came to tell you that the D.A. is meeting in Hogsmeade in two days. Everyone that Theodore's gotten together is supposed to go, too."

"We should go together," Lucy blurted.

"What? What's that?" Blaise asked.

"I mean, well I don't mean like, well maybe I do…" Lucy, flustered, ran a hand over the top of her curls, as if to smooth them. "I just meant, well—and after all this about me _not _being a hussy, this won't look very good, but I…." Her fingers were fisted in the pleats of her skirt. "Goodness, my hands have gone sweaty. Blaise, it's just that I—"

The door burst open and Pansy tromped back in, this time with her shoes on her feet. "Still here?" she sniped, eyeing Lucy up and down before turning a critical eye toward Blaise.

"Back off, Parkinson," Blaise snapped. "We're just talking."

She raised an eyebrow. "I didn't say you weren't." She paused and smirked. "Might want to talk elsewhere, though; we can practically hear you all the way down in the dining hall." Pansy laughed and made her way to the girls' dorm.

"She's a witch," Blaise said once she was gone.

"Something like that," Lucy agreed.

- - -

In the end, Lucy pretended she hadn't been about to say something before Pansy had barged back in. Blaise decided this was all right since he wasn't really sure what to do with a girl like Lucy anyway.

That night, he lay in his bed thinking about her thin wrists and how he could probably reach his fingers all the way around them without much trouble. It was in the middle of these thoughts when Theodore rolled over and said dinner had been quite tumultuous, what with that girl finding what appeared to be a fly in her pot pie.

"Shut up," Draco said. "It wasn't tumultuous."

"Turned out to be burnt potato, but I don't blame her—you can never really tell with those sorts of things," Theodore said, ignoring Draco.

"Not nearly as bad as Barney Deddle and Wendy Puddle," Draco said scornfully.

"Who're they?" Blaise wanted to know. Draco told them the story and when he finished, Blaise sighed happily and said, "That was excellent! Tell another," only Draco didn't know any others.

"Told you it's tumultuous," Theodore said smugly from behind his bed curtains. Draco was silent, determined to ignore him. "Come on," he cajoled. "Better than epic! Epic love takes _years_ to play out. Tumultuous, on the other hand…well, let's just say that if someone were to write a story about us, it would probably only take about sixteen or seventeen chapters."

"What is this 'us' you speak of?" Draco scoffed.

"Oh, shut up," Theodore retorted grumpily. "It's part of the tumult."

"That's not even a word," Draco protested.

"Yes it is, you ridiculous boy." It sounded like Theodore was adjusting his pillows, or maybe kicking his blankets off.

"Blaise? Is it?"

"Yes. Go to sleep."

"But what if my dreams are full of tumult?" Draco rolled over a few times. "See? I don't think it's a word, it sounds funny."

"Someone shut him up," Blaise groaned.

"You can't shut me up," Draco sang. "I'm a regular old chatty Cathy, and nothing can stop me—" he fell silent as his bed curtains were yanked back. Theodore leaned in close over him. "You can't stop me," Draco said again, but his voice sounded hoarse, even to his ears.

"Unless you play dirty," Theodore murmured, his lips dangerously close to Draco's.

- - -

**Author's Note: **Ha! I updated. Maybe that deserves some feedback…?


	15. Chapter 15

- - -

**Disclaimer: **Still not mine. The _Harry Potter_ universe was created and owned by J.K. Rowling and some other people who aren't me. Also, I don't own _Juno, _which is owned by Diablo Cody and some other people. However, the napkin and its song are mine.

**Author's Note: **Back again after only, let's see, forever. My bad. _Juno _reference in this chapter. Full quote at the end, even though you'll all probably recognize it anyway.

- - -

_Previously…_

"You can't shut me up," Draco sang. "I'm a regular old chatty Cathy, and nothing can stop me—" he fell silent as his bed curtains were yanked back. Theodore leaned in close over him. "You can't stop me," Draco said again, but his voice sounded hoarse, even to his ears.

"Unless you play dirty," Theodore murmured, his lips dangerously close to Draco's.

- - -

**Chapter Fifteen: In Which There is Macking and Almost No Plot**

- - -

In the dark of the room, Draco couldn't tell _exactly _what was happening, but he knew Theodore was leaning over him and had braced himself with his arms on either side of Draco's body. Theodore was still very close—he could feel his breath, warm on his skin.

On an impulse, Draco lifted his head and kissed him. Theodore stiffened at first, almost pulled away, but then he relaxed and his mouth fit easily against Draco's. After a moment, Theodore did pull away to say, "You _do_ play dirty."

"Sorry," Draco said, struggling to keep his voice even.

"I like it." Theodore leaned in again.

This time the kiss was rougher, more urgent, Theodore's tongue slipping into Draco's mouth as he pressed against him. Draco's hands went to the collar of Theodore's nightshirt. He popped the row of buttons open to reveal Theodore's lean, pale chest. Draco slid his hands over the bare skin, and down the other boy's sides to grab his hips and pull him closer. Theodore groaned, his body rocking instinctively.

"What's going on over there?" Blaise asked, sounding groggy but startled. Theodore and Draco drew back from their kiss, each trying to breathe quietly and evenly. "Hello?" Blaise said again.

"Nothing," Draco croaked, his eyes still locked on Theodore's. The boy seemed to smirk, almost, as he bent and kissed Draco once more, gently, searchingly, softly.

He pulled away after a moment and whispered, just loud enough for Draco to hear, "Boys who play dirty inevitably get caught." He rose from the bed, slowly so as not to attract Blaise's attention, and slid into his own bed, which was unpleasantly cold. Not to mention empty.

- - -

At breakfast the next morning, Draco sat glaring down the table at Theodore, who, after enduring twenty minutes of it, turned and snapped, "_What?"_

"Nothing," Draco sniffed and stabbed at his eggs.

"What, you think I should be fraught with guilt?"

"Guilt for what?"

"For ignoring you," Theodore snapped.

"Oh, so you know you've been doing that, then?" Draco said. "In that case, yes, feel guilty, please."

"Hush up, you little berk," Theodore grumbled, spearing an apple slice with his fork.

Draco stood suddenly and stalked down to where Theodore was sitting. "Shove over, pipsqueak," he said to the little third year who was enjoying a stack of pancakes. The boy moved, but not quickly enough because Draco took him by the shoulders and scooted him to the side before slipping in next to Theodore. "Listen," he whispered harshly, "It's not fair of you to tell me you like me, _kiss me_, and then ignore me. It's not fair. And don't deny that you've been doing it, either." He stared meaningfully at Theodore, waiting.

Theodore finished chewing his apple, stared back at Draco, checked his wrist (upon which there was no watch) and said, "Oh, would you look at that," before rising from his seat and making for the doors. "Can't be late."

"No." Draco stood abruptly, the long wooden bench scraping loudly on the floor when he did so. Theodore didn't turn around but Draco caught at the back of his collar, the material fisted in his hand. Theodore jolted, head jerking back and arms going out at the sudden force of Draco's interference. "_Stop,"_ Draco hissed.

Theodore slapped the other boy's hands from his collar and gave a brisk, perfunctory tug on his robes to straighten them. "_Hallway,_" he snarled before pivoting and sweeping down the great length of the dining hall.

When Draco burst into the hallway, the double doors swinging shut behind him, he found Theodore standing stock still, back still to the doors. "I am _not a plaything_," Draco insisted breathlessly and waited for a response. It took several minutes and Draco continued to glare at Theodore's rigid back. Finally Theodore axled around on his heel to face Draco. His face was drawn and serious.

"We fight too much," he said, "to even be friends."

"Why don't you _like_ me? Why _can't _you like me?"

"That's an awful question," Theodore snapped.

"Only if there's an awful answer," Draco retorted.

"No! There's not an awful answer!" Nott raked his hands through his hair. "I've _told _you I like you! I'm _trying _to do this decently_. _And you've a right to wonder, I suppose, but you make it so hard to be nice when you storm after me playing merry-hell." Before Draco could respond, he added, "Either way, there's too much happening all at once and…_even _though I like you, I've had enough. Like I said, we fight too much." He mimed washing his hands before spinning and stalking off down the hall.

Draco swallowed thickly. He fisted his hands at his sides. "Isn't that just part of all the stupid tumult?" he demanded. Theodore didn't respond as he disappeared around the corner. "Stupid Christmas," Draco muttered angrily to himself. "Stupid, stupid Christmas."

On an impulse he lashed out at the wall, kicking it with his foot. Tears sprang to his eyes almost immediately but he swallowed them down, since he wasn't entirely sure if they were because of the wall or Theodore.

- - -

"Parkinson's been giving me the stink-eye all day," Lucy said, her tone clearly irked.

"I doubt that." Blaise shook his head. "That's just her face." Lucy arched an eyebrow and looked pointedly to where Pansy was sitting. Blaise followed her eyes. "Oh," he said. "No, that's definitely the stink-eye. You're right. Definitely it." He paused, cocking his head at the look on Parkinson's face. "What do you think she wants?"

"Is it ever _really_ possible to know what that girl wants?"

Blaise shook his head. "She's messed in the head."

"Speaking of heads, she'll pan yours in if she hears you saying that. Keep quiet."

"So you'd care if someone were to pan my head in, then?" Blaise asked. Lucy flushed a warm peach color.

"I have to go," she said hoarsely.

- - -

The rest of the day passed uneventfully for everyone. Draco didn't see hide nor hair of Theodore, and Lucy was avoiding everyone in general, leaving Blaise to lope around after Draco.

"D'you think she's up in the owlery?" he asked, for what Draco estimated was the fiftieth time.

"No," he snapped. "We already checked, anyway. Twice."

"It's been at least ten minutes," Blaise grumbled. "She could've gone up there."

"Zabini, leave it, won't you?"

"Just saying."

This carried on, oscillating between checking the library and the owlery until finally it was late enough to go to dinner where Draco immediately saw Theodore sitting at the Slytherin table. He had apparently charmed a napkin and made it dance for the same third year who had been eating pancakes earlier.

When Draco neared and took his seat, he snuck a look at Theodore, whom he found to be watching him intently, dark eyes locked on his own. The napkin began singing in a warbling falsetto, doing what appeared to be a little soft-shoe.

_I wanted to say I'm sorry_

_Because you've stolen my heart_

_Stole it off the back of a lorry_

_The way you've charmed me is an art_

_You've got me bewitched…_

The napkin hit a particularly high pitch and broke off mid-note with a squawk. It cleared its throat, one folded arm thumping what must have been its chest.

_You've got me bewitched—_

It tried again, but as before, its voice broke. Giving a small harrumph of irritation, it threw its arms wide and belted,

_You've got me BEWITCHED…_

"Err," Theodore said with a wave of his wand, ducking his head sheepishly as the hall fell quiet, students from other tables looking over in curiosity. "That's enough of that." He snatched the now-limp napkin from the table and spread it over his knee with a wary pat.

"I quite like that song, Theodore," Pansy said from across the table, leaning in. Her eyes flashed to Draco. "Enjoy it while you still can, yeah?"

Theodore frowned and Draco tensed, ready to stand. Parkinson batted her eyes at both the boys. "What are you saying?" Theodore asked.

"Nothing," she said all too innocently. "I just meant those charms don't last long."

Both Draco and Theodore had the feeling she wasn't really talking about the napkin.

- - -

**References: **_Juno_

JUNO: Your little girlfriend gave me the stink-eye in art class yesterday.  
PAULIE: Katrina's not my girlfriend, all right? And I doubt she gave you the stink-eye. That's just how her face looks, you know? That's just her face.

**Author's Note: **Thanks for reading. Drop a review letting me know what you think. Also, check out my profile and vote on the poll; I need answers, damnit.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer:** The _Harry Potter _universe still belongs to J.K. Rowling and other people who are not me.

**Author's Note:**Well, I came back, _finally_, to finish this story. This may very well be the last chapter, unless you review and vote for an epilogue that ties up some of the inconvenient loose-ends, which of course, there are none. cough-lying-cough Anyway, I hope you enjoy and please review!

- - -

**Chapter Sixteen: In Which A Lot of Stuff Happens**

- - -

"So you got what I was trying to say with the napkin, yeah?" Theodore's voice was hushed and their footsteps echoed down the hallway after them like cacophonous shadows.

"No," Draco said. "Haven't the faintest. It was a dancing napkin. What was I supposed to get from it?"

"That…you know. That I'm sorry." Theodore's eyes darted away from Draco's, instead following the lines of the stones beneath their feet.

"Oh. How so?"

Theodore jerked on his robes to straighten them, his face an unusual pinkish colour. "Well, you know. When the napkin was singing."

"I don't remember the lyrics," Draco insisted. "What were they again?"Theodore opened his mouth, a nervous, reedy singing voice surprising Draco. "_I wanted to say I'm sorry, because you've stolen my heart." _Theodore paused to clear his throat uncertainly. _"Stole it off the back of a lorry—"_ he broke off, cheeks still uncharacteristically flushed with colour.

"Oh," Draco said with a smile he couldn't suppress, "Oh, that song. Yeah."

"Don't feign innocence," Theodore snapped. "You did too hear the lyrics first time around." Draco lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "Anyway," the other boy added, "I just did it incase I'd hurt your feelings. And I know how hurt feelings don't sit well with you and what-not."

"Speaking of hurt feelings, what kind of broom does Pansy have up her bum?"

Theodore grinned. "A big one." The smile slipped. "I hope Potter is ready for the meeting tomorrow. Hope he's got something other than Patronuses planned."

The two boys snickered as they slipped into the shadows of the Slytherin dungeons.

- - -

The next morning found Draco and Theodore shoving their wands into their robes and hustling to keep up with the group leaving for Hogsmeade. They didn't want to be conspicuous about their departure.

They soon found themselves in Hogsmeade, heading toward the pub where everyone had agreed to meet.

"I just want to be done with this," Theodore said, falling into his familiar slope with Draco beside him. Draco nodded silently. "I hope everyone remembered," Nott added, shoving open the door of the pub. Standing in the open doorway he cut a glance toward Draco and then around the room once more. "This is some fucking joke. Is someone taking the fucking piss?" Theodore ducked back out the door and glanced at the sign before returning to Draco's side. He raked his fingers through his hair, locking them for a moment at the nape of his neck.

"Hadn't we calculated more like…thirty?" Draco asked. Theodore cut him an exasperated look.

"There's literally no one here," he said. He tilted his head as if conceding a point and added, "Well, except the bartender."

"Something must be wrong."

Behind them in the street there was a shout and, turning, they watched as a boy flew backward from one of the neighboring shops and landed on his back in the middle of the road. Theodore groaned and whipped his wand from his robe.

"I thought I smelled dark magic," he mumbled, grabbing Draco's arm and tugging him outside, hugging close to the wall of the building. "Looks like our mums and dads caught a whiff of our plan."

Draco spent a moment feeling a thrill of excitement that something was finally happening and spent the next moment digging his fingers into Theodore's shoulder.

"And what's that for?" Theodore said with a wince.

"Terror. You don't think that my mum and dad could actually _kill_ me, do you?"

"Seems a bit drastic," Theodore agreed, his voice soothing. "They'd probably settle for a good stunning spell and a lifetime of slavery once you're subdued. They're a reasonable people."

"What about your dad?" Draco hissed urgently.

"He'd have no qualms killing you," Theodore said with disconcerting certainty.

"No," Draco said, clearly distressed at the thought. "I meant you. Would he kill you?"

"Think he might, yeah," Theodore nodded. "If not just to make it interesting. Bit cliché, though, if you ask me."

"Yeah," Draco agreed, biting at his lip thoughtfully, his fingers momentarily easing up from their throttle on Theodore. "A bit."

"But the way things are looking, this could very well end in a bloody, messy, teary confrontation between myself and my father in which I confess I've abused illegal substances and he admits he's not my real father…." He shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe it'll culminate in a heated argument between the two of us in which he demands my loyalty and I choose…" he paused, glancing at Draco, "a friend. A good friend over him and—" he flicked his wrist—"shoot him dead."

"You would _do_ that? You _could?_" Draco marveled. "What about that inherent connection between a father and his son?"

"Untrue in the first place, but more importantly, haven't you been paying attention? I'm like every other tortured soul with an eye for sensitive poetry. My dad hits me and I bottle it all up inside, take it like a soldier, and one day…it _pops_," he finished darkly. "Why should I like him?"

Draco didn't really have an answer to that. "I guess you shouldn't," he agreed. "Is all that stuff true?"

"I don't even know anymore." Theodore released a gusty sigh. "But I sort of need a dark past, don't I? To kill my own father?"

"You just need something to fight for. Defeat your father to defeat the Dark Lord…."

"Then no, none of that's ever happened. He doesn't beat me, I don't write driveling poetry, and I don't bottle it up to sell at a later date." He raked his hands through his hair. "But we never have been great friends." His smile was without humour, a dry twist of his lips that ended in a grimace.

"It probably won't happen, anyway," Draco offered and Theodore nodded his dark head once, sharply.

There was a second explosion and both boys lifted their heads. Two darkly cloaked figures swept toward the crumpled boy in the middle of the street.

"We have to help him," Draco said, starting forward from the shadows that hid them. Knowing full well this could be the last time they saw one another or stood this close, Theodore caught his arm roughly, stopping him short. "One for the road?" he asked, craning his neck to see around the corner of the building. He glanced back at Draco. He was already leaning in. He pressed his mouth roughly against Theodore's.

"'When I kiss you, I can taste your soul,'" Theodore whispered, pulling away reluctantly.

Draco was watching Theodore's mouth, but asked distractedly, "What?"

"Carrie Latet," Theodore answered, slightly breathless. "I may not write emotional poetry, but I read it."

The window above their heads shattered with a poorly aimed spell and glass rained down. They fell into a crouch and flung their arms over their heads.

Draco cursed and ran, still hunched over, around the other side of the building. Theodore followed closely behind him.

They were hiding behind a stack of barrels kept behind Madam Rosmerta's and Theodore turned to look at Draco.

"The only thing I want to know is who tipped them off."

"I've been wondering that myself," Draco agreed. They sat in silence for a brief moment when Pansy Parkinson darted past them, her wand out and Draco breathed, with dawning realization, "That little witch."

"Her?" Theodore asked skeptically.

"She has a habit of doing this. What a little tattle." Draco rose to his feet and watched her run down the street. "Did you know she owled my mum at the beginning of the year? Told her we were getting married."

"_What_?"

"I know!"

"You're getting _married?" _Theodore squawked and Draco turned to give him a look when he realized he was wearing a lopsided grin. "Just taking the piss," Theodore said. "You really think it's her?"

"Obviously." Draco darted silently after Pansy, leaving Theodore on his own, which he did not find entirely pleasing. They'd have to have a talk about that later.

The two Death Eaters had left the boy in the street and, after checking if the coast was clear, Theodore darted to him. "Hey," he hissed, "Hey, are you all right?"

"I've—I've been hit," the boy croaked.

"Yes, well that much is rather obvious." Theodore put two fingers to the boy's neck, feeling for a pulse.

"I'm not _dead,_" the boy huffed, swatting at Theodore's hand.

"Then Apparate to Mungo's, for Merlin's sake. Don't just lie here like roadkill."

- - -

"Hey, so, listen, Lucy," Blaise said, shuffling from foot to foot and shoving his hands in his pockets. "I was thinking maybe I should tell—"

"_Now_?" Lucy said, mouth agape. "Really? _Really?_ There's a bit of a war happening, I'm sure whatever you have to say can wait." Her small hands fisted at her sides and she strode around Blaise, heading for the door.

"Hold on," he commanded and his voice was much less hesitant. He seized her wrist and whirled her to face him. "Lucy," he said, his voice searing with determination as he bore down on her, bringing his mouth to hers. She resisted, stiffening as only girls upon whom boys force themselves truly can. She was immovable, a slab of inanimate marble held awkwardly in his arms. He released her quickly, one corner of his mouth pulling down with apologetic uncertainty as if to say _Whoops. Didn't mean that. _

"That's right, you get your hands off me," she said primly, straightening her shirt with a jerk. "You're acting like we'll never see each other again. Whatever it was you were trying to do can wait until after." She pivoted on her heel and didn't so much stride as thunder out, a raging Goddess, engulfed in her own intoxicating energy. Just before she reached the door she twirled back around, said, "Well, maybe just a quick one," and, running, flung her arms about Blaise and kissed him thoroughly.

- - -

Theodore's vision was flickering with the flash of lights expelled from murdering wands. Never had he felt so alone as he did in that moment, one boy in the darkness as he desperately sought Draco Malfoy, hoping beyond all hope to see his stupid, pasty face around the next corner. When he did, indeed, round the next corner, there was his father, tall and raging against the sky. His face was twisted gruesomely and he towered over a cowering blonde boy. Draco.

Theodore could only hear the beating of his own heart, but he felt a vicious snarl rip from his throat as his arm swung out. His wrist movement was sharp and the green light from the tip of his wand was blindingly brilliant, a bolt of his own rage and power. It shot so quickly and completely from his wand, there was no way to avoid it, not when he'd meant it that much. He felt frozen, feet locked in place as he watched his own father collapse. _I did that,_ he thought, but it was not victorious, as the once-proud man crumpled like an old paper doll.

It made him sick to his stomach, worse than he'd thought, given that he hardly gave it consideration except to decide (prematurely, apparently) that killing his own father wouldn't bother him. He couldn't say that he felt no regret without it being a lie. In fact, it impacted him so greatly that he leant to the side and retched violently then and there, barely managing to sidestep the spatter. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he realized there was a distinction to be made between what was good for wizarding society as a whole and what was not. Killing his father, incidentally, was better for the wizarding world as a whole but he did not like thinking about the fact that the man he killed was the same man who'd bounced him on his knee and carefully spooned oatmeal into his mouth as an infant.

Breathing deeply and quickly, mouthfuls of air puffing out his cheeks as he braced his hands on his knees, he watched as Draco scrambled to his feet, seemingly startled that he was, in fact, alive, and backed slowly away from the form of Nott Sr.

"Theodore…oh my God. Oh my God. Fuck," Draco panted, his eyes glued to Theodore's pale face. "Fuck. You just killed your dad."

"Oh, did I? Is _that_ what happened?" Theodore was still breathing heavily, but the flippant sarcasm threw Draco off and Theodore shook his head. "That's disgusting. I didn't mean that." He bowed his head for a moment and was silent. When his eyes next met Draco's, he said quietly, "We always knew this was a possibility. If he were to take one thing from me in this life, it was not to be you." Without another word, Theodore straightened and strode down the road.

"Where are you going?" Draco yelled after him. He didn't really need an answer. He could smell the magic like iron in the air, and the metal of it got heavier farther down the road. Voldemort had to be near; no one wore the cologne of dark magic quite like he did. Draco hurried after Theodore, head down and breath beginning to shorten in anticipation.

- - -

"I didn't really see that coming," Blaise murmured into Lucy's hair. "I have to admit."

At first the kiss had been awkward, but then their bodies molded and his hands felt at home around her waist. He was taller than her, and shivered when she kissed the dip in his collarbone, when she turned her face to his neck and brushed her lips along his throat, along his jaw. She whispered something against the thrum of his pulse and he couldn't hear what she said, but he liked the way it sounded, and the way it felt.

"I saw it coming from a good mile away," Lucy purred, her eyes laughing up at him. "The dust clouds were hard to miss."

"Really?"

"Really, really."

"Wish I'd known. I'd have been much more confident about the whole thing."

"You were perfect," Lucy assured. "You are perfect." And then, despite the battle raging just on the other side of the shop's walls, she leaned in for another kiss.

- - -

On the outskirts of town, Theodore was crouched behind an abandoned crate, his fingers white where they gripped the slotted wood. "It's simple," he breathed, head turning ever so slightly toward Draco, but eyes never leaving the cloaked figure. "So simple"

"On the count of three?" Draco whispered and Theodore nodded. "One." Draco noticed the sweat on his palms.

"Two." Theodore twisted his wand in his fingers.

"Three," they breathed together. "_Avada Kedavra_!"

Voldemort was thrown into the air, hood flying back from his scaly, lifeless face. He lay still.

"Woah. That really was simple," Draco said, straightening halfway to peer at the Dark Lord.

Harry Potter burst onto the scene and doubled, bracing himself on his knees. "It's over!" he shouted, "It's really over!"

Others soon appeared and saw a victorious Harry and a prone, inert Voldemort. People wept and hugged and clapped Harry on the back, swept him into hugs, and in the case of one fiery red-head, kissed him full on the mouth.

"Ron! Gerroff me!" Harry protested, pushing his friend away and wiping at his mouth.

"Oh, _what?" _Draco exclaimed. "He shouldn't get all the credit!"

Theodore caught at the back of his robe and jerked him back. "Let him have this one," he said, not unkindly.

"Hey," Draco protested.

"Oh, like you didn't see that coming," Theodore said and rolled his eyes.

- - -

While the witches and wizards paraded back to Hogwarts, whooping and yelling all the while, Draco and Theodore tried to stay together and, alternately, not get trampled by the happy crowd. It was all for naught when Hagrid came powering through the crowd, arms and legs pumping in his hurry to reach and congratulate Harry.

"Harry!" he boomed, flinging his arms wide, knocking Draco in the back and sending him flying into the wall of the Happy Hog, upon which he hit his head and promptly passed out.

- - -

Back at Hogwarts, when things had settled down enough to have an actual conversation between all the celebrating, Draco and Theodore stood at one of the wide, stained-glass windows and leaned against the sill. Draco had woken from his unfortunate concussion to discover he had missed Christmas by a day, hence the disappearance of all the mistletoe he had so looked forward to. However, he had to admit, the way this conversation was going, mistletoe or no, he would not be kissing anyone.

"It's just that we need to establish rules. It's been so topsy turvy between us that we just can't carry on. So, rule: co-exist. We can co-exist in the same school, I think," Theodore said. "It shouldn't be a problem."

"No," Draco agreed, "I shouldn't think so." They both nodded and looked out the window, gazing to the horizon. After a short pause Draco said, "I mean, we could even try for acquaintances. I think that might work, too."

Theodore nodded readily. "Yes, yes. Acquaintances would probably work. I can get by with that." Their heads bobbed in unison once more and they returned to gazing out the window, leaning forward on their elbows and breathing in the cool fresh air. "I mean, we could probably even try for friends."

"Friends, yeah, that sounds good. Brilliant," Draco said, nodding enthusiastically. They looked at one another and nodded some more, each uttering something about "friends" and "good idea" and then Draco had shoved Theodore up against the wall and Theodore was grappling with Draco's tie, flinging it to the side as their lips met.

- - -

_Fin._

- - -

**Author's Note: **Remember to vote on the epilogue issue!


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter still belongs to J.K. Rowling.

**Author's Note: **Somebody stop me. It's such a horrible idea for me to start posting before a story is actually complete because then it a) takes a really long time to finish or b) never actually gets finished. Case in point: all my other stories. My apologies for the long delay on this epilogue. After all this time, it can never live up to expectations. Phooey.

**Acknowledgments: **It must be noted that one of Theodore's lines (or at least the essence of it) was first voiced by Anidori-Kiladra, a very faithful and enthusiastic reader who's encouraging and insightful comments are much appreciated.

- - -

**Epilogue: The End of the End.**

After Lord Voldemort's defeat and the return of routine to the wizarding world as a whole, Harry Potter maintained, through sheer force of will (and the general obliviousness of the wizarding population at large), that it was all his doing. For Draco, this remained a sore spot over the course of the following years, though it gave him an excuse when he was bitter and childish, which was very handy indeed, seeing as he was bitter and childish quite often.

Impressed by Harry's feat of strength and display of prowess, both magical and sexual, Ginny Weasley became convinced that Harry was more than the wizarding world's Chosen One, he was _The One._ They married soon after Harry's victory and the general consensus was that they deserved each other.

Ron Weasley, whom Draco remained convinced was obnoxious and more than a little stupid, wed Hermione Granger. Together they partook in the act of conception; a project undertaken in what Draco could only assume was a fit of poor judgment on Hermione's part and further evidence of Ron's bad decision-making skills.

Pansy, so desperate for love, searched the wizarding world over, dating every single wizard (and a few who weren't) until she realized she was happier on her own and was, in fact, already complete. She mellowed out and discovered the truly important things in life. Also, she never wore heels again.

As for Blaise, he continued to collect Chocolate Frog cards and, happily, stole kisses from Lucy whenever he could. Which was very often, because Lucy managed to be around quite a lot. They eventually stopped pretending they weren't dating and admitted to themselves—and everyone else—that they _were_, much to the delight of Theodore and Draco, who had heard plenty enough from Blaise about how he _wished_ he was officially dating Lucy.

As for Draco, he remained somewhat judgmental of others, but Theodore brought out the best in him. After his difficult and confusing teen years had passed, Draco entered his difficult and confusing twenties. They were made less so with Theodore at his side and, more specifically, in his bed.

After his father's death, Theodore dealt with it poorly by pretending it had never happened until Draco convinced him to do something about it. Theodore began writing tortured poetry, something about which he had often joked but never done, and ultimately became a happier person for it.

In his remaining months at Hogwarts, and with hearty encouragement from Draco, Theodore made a habit of bribing the house elves to sneak enchanted, singing napkins into Professor Snape's chambers during the wee hours. Though he loved Professor Snape dearly, he really was just a bitter old codger who needed a little excitement in his life. (Never mind that he'd been a spy for the better part of his life and was, in fact, quite ready to settle down with some hot tea and a good novel). Draco tipped extra if the house elves left fabricated evidence that Harry Potter was responsible for the serenading napkins.

In the years after Hogwarts, Theodore and Draco went "steady" and could often be found trying to outsmart one another at Wizard's Strip Chess (for obvious reasons), as well as learning the lyrics to every Celestina Warbeck song so as to be the life of every holiday party (the ones worth going to, anyway).

It was during one of these chess games that Theodore, in his slacks and a pair of socks, leaned toward Draco (who was also wearing slacks, but in addition had a tie knotted loosely around his neck) and said, "Hey, remember that time we defeated the Dark Lord and Harry Potter got all the credit?"

Draco made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat, tossing his head. "Of course."

"Well, I was just wondering how _well _you remember it, because…" here Theodore bit his lip quite fetchingly, "So much was happening, and it happened so ridiculously fast…"

"Are you saying you can't remember the day the Dark Lord _died?_" Draco asked, nudging his pawn forward with the tip of his finger. "By the way, those slacks will be coming off soon if you're not careful. And no one here wants that to happen," he added and looked as though he was very much looking forward to it.

"Well, there should have been an aftermath, only there wasn't really…or, not one I can remember very clearly and, well…what would that aftermath have looked like, in your wildest fantasies?"

"Let me think…" Draco mused, though clearly he didn't need to. "Oh, I know!" He jabbed one finger to the sky theatrically as though coming upon a revelation of great import. "That Order of Merlin that Potter got engraved, but instead with _my_ name and hanging on _my_ wall…yes, I think that would do."

"Really?" Theodore asked, a little breathless. "Because in my wildest fantasies, the aftermath would look something like what's going on right now…but you'd probably be naked and I'd probably be on top of you," he added, eyeing Draco thoughtfully.

Draco swallowed thickly. "Oh, really?" He nodded, head bobbing twice. "Yes, that actually sounds better than my fantasy."

"It does, doesn't it?" Theodore agreed with a wicked grin, crawling toward Draco, knee knocking aside the remaining chess pieces. The pieces scattered, clearly irked, small hands clutching their hats as they ran.

"It really, really does." Draco was going to add more but decided it didn't matter when Theodore pressed his lips to his, one hand curling in the short, fine blonde hair at the nape of his neck. "Help me get this bloody tie off," Draco mumbled into his mouth, already struggling with the silky green knot.

"Only if the pants go with it," Theodore wheedled but Draco rolled his eyes.

"Of _course_ the pants are going with it."

"Oh, good." Theodore deftly unknotted the tie, sliding the material languorously down the center of Draco's chest, which rose and fell rapidly. His excitement was evident and when Theodore's lean fingers found the belt buckle of Draco's trousers, he couldn't help but notice. "Well, _hello_, sir," he drawled devilishly, glancing first at the straining crotch of the trousers and then up from under his eyebrows to smile crookedly at Draco.

"Hello, sir yourself," Draco retorted pleasantly. "Looks as though we have a bit of a problem on our hands."

"Something needs to be done," Theodore agreed, fingers unzipping Draco's slacks. "But I think I have an idea that just might remedy our predicament. For a while, at least."

"Oh?"

"Yes," Theodore nodded sagely. "It starts like this…" he leaned in and pressed a warm, thorough kiss to Draco's mouth, then his neck, then his chest. He paused, looking up with a grin. "I'm sure you can tell where this is going."

"Yes, and I like it," Draco panted. "Please, by all means—carry on."

And he did…

An hour later, they lay side by side, the chess board kicked aside, happy and a little sweaty. Theodore twisted his head to look at Draco. "I think the defeat of the Dark Lord was quite a good moment in my life."

Draco nodded happily, his hand finding Theodore's, fingers intertwining. "Yes, quite decent." He leaned in to press another kiss to Theodore's lips. He pulled away slowly. "But the aftermath is better."

- - -


End file.
